CUBA, 

AN    INCIDENT   OF   THE   INSURRECTION, 

AND  OTHER  VERSE, 

TO    WHICH    IS    Al'1'ENDED 

AN     R  S  S  AY    ON     1VE  U  S  I C 

BY 

MORRIS   GARTH. 


Here  pause  my  gothic  lyre  a  little  time; 
The  leisure  hour  is  all  that  thou  canst  claim. 


—Beattie. 


CHICAGO: 

BELFORD  CLARKE  CO. 
1801. 


Copyrighted,  1890,  by 

BKLFORD  CLARKE  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


CUBA:  AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE  INSURRECTION  .           .7 

MAY:   A  PASTORAL      ,            .            .            .  .           45 

THE   OLD   SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM  .     52 

CHATTERTON:  A  MONODY             .            .  60 

SEA  PICTURES     .            .                         .  .            .65 

QUAND  MEME           '.'"'.            .          •  .  ;i 
SONNETS. 

A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE        .           .           ..  .           .     79 

INRI             .           .           .           .           .  . ;         80 

Music     .....  .81 

TO-MORROW            .           .           .           f  .           82 

SOLITUDE           .                   '    . '          .  .           .83 
MEDITATION           .....           84 

VENICE  .           .           .           .           .  .            .85 

STANZAS. 

LOVE  AND  DIGNITY           .           .           .  .           89 

THE  GLADIATOR           .           .          -.  .            .93 

His  REPLY  (TO  "HER  LETTER")          .  .           95 

THE  EARLY  WORM,  OF  UNHAPPY  MEMORY  .            .  100 

NIGHT          .            .            .            .           .  .         103 

UNKNOWN  SOLDIER  :  ARLINGTON,  VA.  .            .  106 

ON  THE  SANDS       .            .           .           .  108 

To  A  CANARY  .                       .  .no 


IV.  CONTENTS. 

STANZAS.— CONTINUED. 

MONA           .            .            .            .  .112 

A  THOUGHT       .            .             .            .  .114 

Music  AND  MEMORY           .            .            .  .116 

THE  DAKOTA:  A  FRAGMENT,            .  .            .118 

UNDERLEY              ,  .          123 

BARCAROLLE      ...  .125 

SONG  :   A  SKY  OF  PUREST  SAPPHIRE       .  .          127 

A  REMEMBRAMCE         .            .            ,  .            .129 

I    LOVE   TO    LOOK    INTO    THINE   EYES            .  .              130 

LINES  IN  AN  ALBUM:  I.,  II.,  III.,  IV.,  .        131  132 

To    «***.'.            .            .  133 

LOVE  IN  ABSENCE  :  SPANISH  PROVERB,  .             .  134 
SONG:  THERE'S    SOMEONE  WITH  THE  BRIGHTEST 
EYES     ......          135 

ESSAY. 

Music  AND  ITS  PROCESSES           .            .  .          139 


What  is  writ  is  writ:  would  it  were  worthier. 

— Byron. 


CUBA. 


CUBA. 


I. 


The  Indies'  seas — resplendent,  sapphire-bright: 

The  coral  lands  where  Nature  ever  smiles, 

Where  summer  reigns,  throned  on  a  thousand  isles, 

Crowned  as  befits  the  queen  of  life  and  light. 

The  tropic  sun — a  fire  which  knows  no  wane, 

Uplifting  life  in  opulence  sublime, 

In  endless  wealth;  the  eminent  domain 

Of  life  spontaneous  from  creation's  prime! 

Clad  in  rich  tints  or  robed  in  fiery  hues 

Its  myriad  forms  in  plant,  in  fruit,  and  flower; 

Munificence  supreme;  supremest  power 

Revealed  in  never-wearying  love  profuse. 

The  sum  unspeakable,  and  soul  and  sense 

Gaze  wonder-bound  before  Omnipotence! 

As  neighboring  trees  all  blossom-laden  rest 
'Mid  the  rose-haze  of  summer's  sultry  day, 
So  lie  those  isles  upon  the  sun-flushed  breast 
Of  southern  seas  where  spicy  breezes  play. 

7 


:UBA. 


Balmful  those  winds  with  fragrant  sweets  imbued, 
Culled  from  unnumbered  fruits  and  floral  blooms, 
Profusely  rich,  which  scatter  their  perfumes 
Upon  the  air — o'erfilled  to  lassitude. 

Unceasingly  amid  the  island  shades 
Pours  the  glad  music  of  the  plumaged  throng, 
Most  joyous  heard  'mid  the  secluded  glades 
Of  the  wild-wood,  where  they  betimes  prolong 
Into  the  silence  of  the  night  their  song. 

Entrancing  scenes  of  artless  luxury! 
Where  bounteous  nature  has  profusely  shed 
Her  rarest  gifts,  nor  deem  on  earth  can  be 
Scenes  where  her  beauties  are  more  richly  spread. 

Yet,  'mid  those  scenes,  in  sullen  grandeur  rise 
Mountainous  steeps,  wild-cragged,  their  forms  sear- 
browned, 

Which  boldly  reach  majestic  toward  the  skies, 
Their  towering  crests  with  dark-plumed  pines  en- 
crowned! 

Upon  their  heights  the  island  mountaineer, — 
In  view  the  waters  of  th'  encircling  sea, — 
Makes  his  abode;  his  joy  their  crags  to  dare; 
Nor  deems  he  else  an  equal  luxury, 
Though  'neath  his  feet  unfading  shades  abound, 
And  fruits  delicious  freight  the  hidden  ground. 


CUBA. 


Such  beauty  theirs — those  isles  of  Indies?  sea; 
Such  riches  theirs  as  tempt  cupidity! 

II. 

The  morn  across  Antilles  seas 

Broke  softly  with  a  cradling  breeze, 

Which  o'er  the  slumbering  waters  crept 

Till  lost  in  island  groves  it  slept, 

Or  wandered  merrily  along 

Amid  its  shades,  which,  at  its  song 

Waking,  their  'leafy  banners'  hung 

Out  as  it  passed,  while  sweetly  sung 

The  plumaged  choir  in  bright  array, 

Their  anthem  to  returning  day. 

To  these  and  opening  woodland  flowers, 

To  lakelets  bright,  in  verdant  bowers 

Embosomed,  the  glad  zephyrs  spoke 

Their  greetings,  and  all  nature  woke 

To  joy;  the  sylvan  wavelets  kissing 

From  sleep;  with  smiles  them  dimpling  o'er, 

Or  from  their  cradled  rest  enticing, 

To  leave  them  sighing  on  the  shore! 

III. 

The  sun,  now  risen,  through  the  verdured  trees, 
Tuned  by  the  breeze  to  rustic  symphonies, 
Shed  o'er  a  woodland  lake, — whose  waters  lie 


.:  jo  ;  :  \>:  -:  .     ;  /       :CUBA. 

Among  the  hills  that  overlook  the  sea, 

Carribean  named,  where  round  the  southern  coast 

Of  Cuba's  isle  it  circles,  eastward  lost, — 

Its  softest  rays,  yet  brightest  till  its  breast 

Sparkled  with  brilliants,  like  some  beauty  dressed 

In  jeweled  splendor,  as  it  rose  and  fell 

In  warm  pulsation,  softly  audible. 

Upon  its  wooded  slopes,  here  long  alone, 

Save  for  his  child, — scarce  to  his  household  known, 

In  solitude  had  dwelt  and  slept — now  dead — 

The  Count  Zambrana.     Many  years  had  fled 

Since  first  he  sought  the  shades  which  now  waved  o'er 

His  marble  crypt  upon  the  farther  shore. 

Whence  he  had  come  none  knew,  none  e'er  had  known; 

Why  thus  he  lived,  avoiding  e'en  his  own, 

And  none  remembered  since  the  earliest  day 

He  sought  those  hills  one  from  them  spent  away, 

Though  at  each  eve  this  man  of  mystery 

Had  loved  to  wander  by  the  neighboring  sea; 

And  only  there  was  he  e'er  known  to  show 

Aught  of  emotion;  then  from  some  deep  woe 

It  seemed  to  rise,  which  in  his  heart  lay  sealed, 

Some  wearing  secret,  jealously  concealed. 

Stern  was  his  glance,  withal  yet  kind  his  eye 

Where  pride  enthroned  maintained  a  mastery 

O'er  those  emotions  which  his  heart  down-weighed, 

Nor  rose  unguarded,  save  when  sleep  betrayed. 

In  life,  his  thought  ne'er  wearying  did  employ 


CUBA.  II 

Itself  in  studying  but  his  daughter's  joy; 

And  wealth  possessed,  left  her  naught  to  desire, 

Save  to  reclaim  from  that  dark  shade  her  sire, — 

Was  it  remorse  or  sorrow  which  thus  moved 

The  heart  her  own  so  truly,  fondly  loved. 

But  Death — that  presence  which  man's  heart  subdues, 

Refusing  oft  that  which  alone  it  sues 

In  life's  last  hour:  a  moment's  strength  to  bear 

Up  from  its  tomb  the  sins  Pride  buries  there — 

Had  sought  Zambrana,  and  its  swift  decree 

Forever  sealed  his  life's  strange  mystery. 

Now  years  had  fled;  to  womanhood  had  grown 

The  child,  yet  had  she  not  been  left  alone, 

For  a  not  less  than  mother's  love  was  hers 

In  one  her  guardian  from  her  earliest  years. 

IV. 

Upon  the  woodland  lake,  smooth  gliding  o'er 
Its  waves,  a  gondola  approached  the  shore, 
Beneath  the  oar  of  swarthy  Islander 
Borne  gently  onward.     Long  his  raven  hair 
Fell  from  beneath  a  ribboned  sombrero 
About  his  neck  uncovered,  and  below, 
Across  his  half-bared  breast  of  olive  hue, 
Floated  before  the  breeze.     His  eyes — but  who 
Would  paint  a  Criollo  and  shade  his  eyes 
Less  dark  than  are  his  southern  starlit  skies! 
A  lovely  figure  in  the  boat  reclined: 


12  CUBA. 

Zambrana's  daughter;  her  fair  form,  confined 

In  whitest  folds  of  softest  texture,  lay 

The  paragon  of  grace  and  symmetry, 

Beneath  a  silk  o'ershading,  on  a  spread 

Of  Persian  tapestry.     Rested  her  head 

On  her  warm  hand,  round  which  her  wealth  of  hair, 

In  dark  profusion  fell;  and  naively  there 

A  crimson  blossom  clung,  and  seemed  to  seek 

To  shade  the  damask  softness  of  her  cheek. 

Her  eyes  were  dark — 'twould  be  a  mockery 

To  try  to  paint  them  by  a  simile, 

As  they  beneath  their  silken  fringe,  half  closed, 

In  lustrous  languor,  dreamingly  reposed. 

A  terraced  stair,  with  marble  balustrade, 
Rose  from  the  lake,  and  thence  an  avenue, 
'Neath  palms  o'er-arching,  stretched  up  the  hill-side 
To  where,  crowning  its  summit,  the  chateau 
In  simple  beauty  stood.     Around  the  shade 
Of  tamarind,  ceiba  and  the  mango  swayed 
In  wandering  winds,  laden  with  sweets  distilled 
From  neighboring  fruity  groves,  while  clustering  there 
Bloomed  floral  hues  unnumbered,  and  the  air, 
Amid  the  foliage  musical,  was  rilled 
With  songs  of  birds. 

Entrancing  scenes  stretched  round  on  every  hand, 
Far  as  the  sight  the  vista  could  command 


CUBA.  13 

In  azure  framed — the  vast  circumference 

With  beauty  stored;  a  glow  of  life  intense: 

Here  orange  groves  displayed  their  wondrous  yield 

In  golden  clusters  o'er  the  verdured  field; 

There  softly  white  the  coffee  beauty  spread 

Her  flake-like  blossoms  fringed  with  gentlest  shade 

Of  stately  palms,  which  'mid  the  slumbrous  air 

Reposeful  stood — majestic  everywhere. 

Beyond,  empurpled,  'gainst  the  luminous  sky 

A  mountain  range  in  sombre  majesty 

Stretching  far  eastward  with  the  neighboring  sea — 

The  sister  tenants  of  immensity. 

Near  the  chateau,  'neath  an  embowering  shade, — 
A  net  of  verdure  with  bright  blossoms  spread, — 
Where  over-arching  vines,  with  blooms  o'er-run, 
Tempered  the  brightness  of  a  tropic  sun, 
Reclined  the  figure  of  a  youth,  though  grown 
To  manhood's  stature.     Through  the  screen  o'er- 

thrown, 

Of  foliage  intertwined,  the  sunlight  crept, 
Lighting  his  brow,  as  motionless  he  slept, 
O'er  which  his  hair,  in  indolent  unrest, 
Moved  in  dark  clusters,  by  the  breeze  caressed. 
A  flush  was  warmly  glowing  on  his  cheek 
As  soft  as  are  the  mellow  tints  that  streak 
The  summer  sky,  when,  as  night's  curtains  close, 
On  twilight's  breast,  day  sinks  into  repose. 


14  CUBA. 

Yet  there  was  stamped  upon  his  placid  face 

Unyielding  pride,  still  tempered  with  a  grace 

Of  true  nobility,  that  influence 

Which  moulds  the  face  in  gentler  lineaments. 

Plain  were  his  features,  yet  enthroned  there, 

With  stateliness,  appeared  that  nameless  air 

Of  conscious  force, — the  reflex  of  a  mind 

Which  still  attracts  and  which  commands  mankind; 

The  superscription  of  that  power  that  sways 

The  world,  the  mind, — sovereign  of  sovereignties! 

With  its  great  premier,  governing  reason,  throned, 

Controlling  worlds,  yet  by  no  power  bound. 

Its  consort  thought;  the  eye  its  minister; 

The  universe  its  realm;  the  arbiter 

In  man  of  men,  who,  envious,  then  behold 

Themselves  resistless  by  its  power  controlled, 

As  in  submission,  'neath  its  master  spell, 

They  render  homage,  though  their  wills  rebel! 


V. 


From  midnight  till  the  star  of  morn 
Ealed  'neath  the  saffron  veil  of  dawn, 
Young  Pasco,  o'er  the  star-lit  wave, 
By  many  a  cape  and  island  cave, 
Full  many  a  league  along  the  shore 
Guided  his  boat  with  steady  oar, 
From  where,  within  a  cliff-bound  bay, 


CUBA.  15 

A  band  of  Cuban  patriots  lay 

Close  'neath  a  friendly  mountain  wall 

Which  stretched  around,  impassable. 

There  in  the  fastness  of  the  mountain  height, 
Dreading  naught  else  save  the  betraying  night, 
His  patriot  comrades  waited  for  the  day 
When  once  again  their  hands  should  rend  away 
Another  thong  that  bound  their  bleeding  land, 
Wrenched  from  her  heart-strings  by  a  tyrant's  hand. 


Thou  stricken  isle!    how  long  shall  Slaughter  flood 

Thy  vales  of  beauty  with  the  patriots'  blood; 

How  long  still,  struggling,  must  thou  bleed,  nor  find 

One  hand  of  mercy  thy  red  wounds  to  bind? 

Weakest  yet  braver  than  the  strongest  all, 

Must  freedom's  fairest  child  unheeded  call, 

And  to  the  accents  of  her  anguished  cry, 

Gain  but  the  echo  of  their  agony? 

Thou  guardian  Genius  of  the  patriot  brave! 

Hear  thou  thy  sons — still  thine  the  power  to  save — 

Who  to  thee  turn,  scourged  in  their  native  land 

For  freedom's  cause  by  an  aggressor's  hand. 

Hear  thou  thy  sons  who  nobly  there  defy 

Thy  bitterest  foe,  freedom's  arch-enemy; 

That  chief  of  despots,  whose  long  history  reads 

A  record  dark  of  persecution's  deeds, 


16  CUBA. 

Who  now  oppressing  that  unhappy  clime 
Would  there  proscribe  e'en  liberty  a  crime — 
That  gift  divine,  hereditary  right, 
From  mankind  stolen  in  oppression's  night! 
Withhold  no  longer  thine  avenging  sword; 
Nay,  they  are  free,  if  thou  but  speak'st  the  word, 
That  word  unsaid,  lo,  each  returning  day 
Beholds  them  pierced  afresh  by  tyranny! 
Stay  in  their  course  the  reeking  blade 
And  kindling  brand,  by  fell  destruction  swayed, 
Which  o'er  that  land,  where  all's  so  wondrous  fair 
Spread  blackened  desolation  and  despair. 

A  Nemesis  arise,  clothed  in  thy  might, 

With  justice  armed,  thy  countenance  alight 

With  righteous  vengeance,  so  shall  tyranny 

Before  thy  face  in  terror  shrink  away, 

As  to  its  lair  the  preying  beast  of  night, 

When  o'er  the  mountain  beams  the  morning  light! 

See,  'mid  the  verdure  of  his  native  glade, 
Attacked  by  panther,  from  its  ambush  strayed, 
The  noble  stag,  just  struggling  to  his  feet, 
Defiantly  fronts  his  pursuer's  hate. 
Now  on  his  foe  impetuously  he  flies, 
A  desperate  courage  flashing  from  his  eyes; 
The  beast  recoils,  then  with  a  fierce  rebound 
Springs  at  its  victim;  half  borne  to  the  ground 


CUBA.  17 

His  antlers  stout  receive  his  savage  foe: 
With  cry  half  pain,  half  hate,  back  crouching  low. 
Yet  once  again  behold  him  full  at  bay, 
Dauntless — 

Till  now  his  panting  breaths  betray 
His  sinking  frame,  which  scarce  may  long  sustain, 
The  brave,  proud  spirit  which  it  bears  within. 
See  on  the  jaws  of  his  fierce  assailant 
The  scarlet  life,  in  savage  cunning  rent 
From  his  torn  limbs,  that  know  no  soothing  balm 
Save  the  soft  currents  of  his  life-blood  warm; 
Yet  not  alone  his  flows;  mark  the  red  dye 
His  antlers  bear,  drawn  from  his  enemy ! 

Lo,  Cuba  thus  confronts  Hispania  still, 
With  courage  not  her  fiercest  shocks  can  kill, 
Though  stricken  bleeding — 

Thou  America! 

Strong  as  thou  art  and  pledged  to  liberty, 
Thus  at  thy  gates  shall  stranger  masters  slave 
Thy  sister — loveliest  child  that  Nature  gave! 
Thy  freedom  viewed,  she  in  thy  steps  would  tread, 
Yet  stones  thou  giv'st  her  where  she  asks  but  bread. 
Nay,  while  her  cries  now  smite  thy  sluggard  ear, 
Cries  thou  know'st  well,  for  once  thine  own  they 
were, 


1 8  CUBA. 

While  in  her  flesh,  all  quivering,  deeper  gnaw 
Beneath  thine  eyes,  the  chains  her  enslavers  draw, 
Wilt  thou,  O  mother! — canst  thou  close  thy  heart? 
Must  thus  the  prestige  of  thy  name  depart? 


Young  Pasco,  boldest  of  the  brave, 

Feared  not  the  wildness  of  the  wave; 

To  him  the  night  wind  o'er  the  sea 

Was  but  a  voice  of  melody; 

Its  tossing  waves — his  heart  more  free — 

Were  but  a  thing  of  ecstasy 

In  which  his  boundless  thoughts  but  found 

Companions;  their  impatient  sound 

Reflecting  in  their  wild  unrest; 

Love's  fevered  pulses  in  his  breast; 

And  so  he  welcomed  with  delight 

These  restless  spirits  of  the  night. 

Naught  did  he  fear,  for  to  the  heart 

That  knows  the  strength  love's  throbs  impart— 

A  strength  in  dangers  stronger  proving 

That  stand  betwixt  the  loved  and  loving — 

There  is  no  peril  which  can  fright 

On  surging  wave  or  mountain  height, 

While  depths  of  fondest  happiness 

Await  the  heart  in  love's  embrace! 

Now,  as  the  dying  shades  of  night 


CUBA.  19 

Fled  silently  before  the  light 
Of  coming  day,  his  light  caique 
Was  moored  within  an  island  creek. 
Soon  reached  the  scene  he  knew  so  well, 
Made  sacred  by  the  last  farewell 
Which  he  had  kissed  from  lips  that  thrilled 
His  quickening  pulse,  though  parting  chilled 
His  anxious  heart — for  love  e'er  dreads 
The  cloud  a  lowering  future  spreads, 
Though  o'er  the  star  of  hope  may  gleam 
With  bright  albeit  uncertain  beam; 
A  brightness  which  its  spirit  fears 
Reflected  in  a  woman's  tears. 

Fatigued,  now  'neath  a  shade  reclined 
He  sought  a  while  of  rest  to  find, 
Before  the  fast  returning  day 
Should  bring  the  hour  that  should  repay 
Love's  willing  toil.     Soon  kindly  sleep 
His  eyelids  closed,  as  the  calmed  deep, 
Just  'neath  the  hill  whereon  he  lay, 
Low  whispering  of  tranquility, 
Soothed  weariness  to  sweetest  rest, 
While  fancy,  for  love,  fondly  traced 
In  dream-tints,  scenes  where  only  joy 
Admitted,  bore  love  company! 


2O  CUBA. 

VI. 

As  in  the  loadstone  dwells  a  vital  force 
We  may  not  trace  to  its  mysterious  source, 
Which  seeks  its  consort,  the  responding  steel, 
And  to  it  clings,  nor  why  does  it  reveal, 
Th'  effect  we  mark;— the  cause?  There  dies  the  light, 
And  Wonder  pauses  on  the  verge  of  night, 
While  all  the  cunning  of  philosophies 
Ends  in  the  simple  knowledge  that  //  is! 

E'en  thus  in  love  a  nameless  power  lies, 
Attracting  still  its  own  affinities, 
Beneath  which  force  the  heart  responsive  moves 
Love's  willing  footsteps  toward  the  soul  it  loves: 
The  will  obeys, — and  why  it  cannot  tell, 
Yielding  unconscious  to  that  mystic  spell, 
In  spirit-vision  which  outwings  the  sight, 
Pursued  by  thought  in  its  mysterious  flight. 

Thus  oft  there  dawns  a  seeming  consciousness: 

Thought's  dimmest  taper  glimmering  faint    and 

low, 
When  near  us  throbs  the  heart  our  own  would  bless, 

Feeling  ere  yet  its  presence  we  may  know: 
Still  undivined — this  intercourse  of  souls; 

Unknown,  its  workings  to  the  mists  of  sense, 
And  yet  the  will  its  magic  force  controls, 

Which  yields,  unconscious,  to  its  influence. 


CUBA.  21 

Now,  as  she  wandered  'neath  the  verdant  shades 
Which  round  her  island  home  luxuriant  pressed, 

As  from  the  lake  she  sought  their  quiet  glades, 
Dreaming  of  one  whose  image  filled  her  breast, 

Did  Lolo  feel  this  influence  which  invades 
The  realm  of  thought,  with  pulses  to  invest 

Those  chords  magnetic  which  two  hearts  unite: — 

A  bond  too  hallowed  for  the  sensual  sight. 

And  thus  impelled,  unconsciously  she  sought 
The  floral  shade  where  Pasco  sleeping  lay, 

Wondering  the  while  if  life  could  offer  aught 
And  Pasco  gone;  and  then  in  ecstasy 

Transfixed   she    stood,    as    quick    that    saddening 

thought, 
Darkening  her  eyes,  faded  in  tears  of  joy: — 

And  oh  how  bright  beamed  her  all-lustrous  eyes 

'Neath  that  one  cloud,  flashing  love's  sympathies. 

"My  Pasco!  " — and  her  voice  sank  sweetly  lower 
From  the  first  pulse  of  love's  temerity, 

Like  the  lone  nightingale's,  in  twilight's  hour, 
As,  when  disturbed,  its  warblings  die  away; 

And  flushed  her  cheek  as,  like  an  arching  flower, 
O'er  him  she  leaned  in  love's  expectancy, 

Pressing  her  heart  which  throbbed  all  envious, 

That  sleep  should  claim  a  moment  of  its  bliss. 


22  CUBA. 

O  Love,  thou  sweet  enigma  of  the  soul! 

Fearless  yet  fearful;  all-seeing  yet  how  blind; 
Omniscient  yet  thou  spurn'st  the  mild  control 

Of  thy  co-dweller  Reason.     Thus  combined, 
Opposing  forces  blend  a  marvellous  whole 

In  thy  mysterious  framework,  that  designed 
By  goodness  infinite  that  from  its  height 
The  soul  might  glimpse  th'  elysian  fields  of  light. 

E'en  as  to  thought,  to  sight  dost  thou  impart 
By  thy  mysterious  force  higher  virtue 

Supernal,  giving  all  things  to  the  heart, 
By  vision  there  revealed,  an  aspect  new; 

Clothed  in  new  beauty  all;  beauty  no  art 
Hath  cunning  to  resolve,  while  that  we  knew 

Before  as  happiness,  to  thee  doth  seem 

But  like  the  baseless  fancies  of  a  dream! 

Employs  which  once  no  joy  could  e'er  impart, 
Or  longings  waked  they  could  not  satisfy, 

'Neath  thy  sweet  force  awake  within  the  heart 
Throbbings  of  all-sufficing  ecstasy. 

Heaven's  richest  dower  to  man;  of  life  the  part 
Most  sacred;  flame  of  immortality, 

Which  here  below  sheds  its  celestial  light, 

Without  which  life  were  lifeless,  day  were  night. 

No  longer  able  to  resist,  Lolo, 

Beside  him  seated  'mid  the  flowers,  now 


CUBA.  23 

A  gently  lingering  kiss  upon  his  brow 

In  maiden  fervor  pressed;  then  back  she  drew, 

As  fearing  love  too  bold,  while  a  warm  glow 
Suffused  her  cheeky  then  o'er  hfs  face  anew 

Her  own  she  leaned,  as  Pasco,  waking,  seemed 

As  if  he  doubted  if  he  lived  or  dreamed. 

"  Is  it  a  dream?     No,  no!     No  dream  could  trace 
Such  wondrous  beauties  as  my  Lolo  grace; 
No  vision  paint  an  image  half  so  fair 
As  thou,  my  idol,— and  thou  sought  me  here? 
Thou  Beauty's  self  !"     Then,  in  one  long  embrace 
Upon  his  breast  pillowed  her  lovely  face, 
In  speechless  joy  her  idoled  form  he  pressed 
Close  to  the  heart  that  trembled  in  his  breast. 

"  Not  here,  my  Pasco — everywhere  this  heart 
In  spirit-flight  hath  followed  where  thou  wert, 
At  morn  and  eve,  and  through  night's  visions  still 
The  paths  exploring  of  each  neighboring  hill, 
As  hope  still  promised  with  each  coming  day 
Thy  watched  return— how  oft  but  to  betray; 
And  when  its  voice  with  less  assurance  came, 
While  busy  memory  ceaseless  called  thy  name, 
Love,  trembling,  sank  on  sorrow's  pallid  breast, 
And  there,  disconsolate,  sobbed  itself  to  rest. 
But  this  no  more;  sorrow  shall  wait  on  joy, 
Which  must  alone  the  hours  now  employ 


24  CUBA. 

With  thy  return,  them  truant  wanderer; 
And  first  account  thee  since  we  parted  here. 
Then  didst  thou  promise,  by  thine  own  true  heart, 
E'en  thus:  'but  for  a  little  time"  we  part; ' 
And  now  the  moon,  then  newborn,  hung  on  high, 
Full  thrice  hath  waned  along  the  summer  sky. 
And  see! — why  thus  in  military  mien 
Art  thou  returned?     Where  hath  my  Pasco  been, 
That  thus  of  dress,  as  for  some  carnival, 
Absence  has  been  so  strangely  prodigal? 
'T  is  sure  thy  humor, — yet  thy  pensive  eye 
Scarce  seems  to  bear  such  presence  company." 

"Then  with  thine  own  softly  persuasive  eyes, 
Shall  they  but  bear  love's  happier  embassies: 
E'en  as  thou  say'st:  '  sorrow  on  joy  shall  wait,' 
As  love  would  sorrow  e'er  anticipate 
Which  still  o'erbodes;  while  't  is  but  joy  to  weigh 
In  love's  sweet  balance  sorrows  passed  away. 
Called  from  thy  side,  still  in  our  country's  cause, 
The  cause  of  justice  and  of  freedom's  laws 
Employed  each  hour, — too  brief  to  liberty, 
Yet  oh,  how  lengthened  distant  far  from  thee, 
Would  't  were  not  mine  to  tell  thee  that  in  vain 
Our  land  still  struggles  'neath  oppression's  chain; 
That  still  her  sons  must  strive,  nor  free  her  soil 
From  despots  who  her  of  her  rights  despoil. 
Come  now  the  hour  when  all  who  love  their  isle, 


CUBA.  25 

As  hating  those  who  still  her  vales  defile, 

Must  strike  for  freedom,  nor  e'en  shrink  to  bear 

Its  standard  foremost  in  the  ranks  of  war." 


"  Thus  hast  thou  ever  nobly  borne  thy  part, 
Allegiance  sharing  but  with  this  fond  heart, 
My  Pasco,  till  of  all  thou  once  possessed — 
All  save  thy  life,  in  this  art  thou  divest." 
"That  gift  alone  is  worthy  freedom's  cause, — 
Her  voice  reproachful  till  each  patriot  draws,— 
And  if  but  ventured,  on  that  hazard  cast, 
Rich  the  reward,  if  that  loved  cause  at  last 
Triumphant  stands;  and  if  this  may  not  be, 
Better  to  die  than  live  for  tyranny. 
But  of  thyself  :  first  would  I  hear  thee  tell 
Of  the  time  past  which  thou  hast  marked  so  well 
By  the  chaste  moon,  which  now  thy  constancy 
Shall  ever  witness,  near  or  far  from  thee." 
Then  were  recalled  those  hours  of  bitterness 
When  hope  beamed  low,  those  tremblings  of  distress 
Which  rend  the  heart  when  separation  flings 
Dark,  chilling  shadows  from  its  sombre  wings. 
Each  day  remembered  with  its  train  of  fears; 
Patience  grown  weary,  faith  subdued  to  tears, 
Fond  expectation  at  the  morning  light 
Waking  in  smiles;  in  tears  ere  came  the  night, 
While  morn  and  night  hope  watched  unwearyingly, 
To  soothe  the  pain  of  love's  despondency. 


26  CUBA. 

Now  in  the  brightness  of  joy's  warmthful  ray 
Dissolved  in  light,  each  shadow  passed  away, 
As  'neath  the  sun  the  mists  of  morning  fade 
Which   ere    the  dawn,   earth's   slumbering  beauty 
shade. 


The  hours  had  sped, — how  swiftly  do  they  fly, 
Unmarked  by  thought  in  love's  sweet  company, — 
Till  now  they  led  past  the  meridian  height 
In  robes  of  gold-edged  fleece  the  god  of  light. 
Though  marked  the  hour,  yet  still  did  Pasco  fear 
To  hope  and  love-expectant  to  declare 
Honor's  last  act,  for  well  he  knew  that  this 
Quick  must  consign  sweet  joy  to  bitterness. 
But  now,  'neath  Time's  injunction,  in  his  heart 
The  pain  that  soon — fore'er  perhaps,  they  must  part, 
For  utterance  pressed,  as  thus  again  to  thought 
Memory  recalled  his  grief,  in  joy  forgot. 
Then  as  some  cloud  which  'neath  the  moon's  pure 

light 

Suffused  with  brightness,  decks  the  brow  of  night, 
When  swept  away  by  spirit  winds,  that  sigh 
Their  weird  lamentings  through  the  silent  sky, 
To  darkness  fades,  thus  borne  from  its  bright  sphere 
Into  the  regions  of  the  nether  air, 
Shadowing  o'er  the  watching  stars,  but  now 
Beaming  in  beauty  on  its  silvery  brow, 


CUBA.  27 

So  the  glad  light  which  shone  in  Pasco's  face, 

Reflected  from  love's  fervent  happiness, 

Faded  away  as  now  within  his  breast 

Grief's  gathering  mists  their  chilling  darkness  pressed, 

And  spread  a  shade  of  anguish  o'er  his  brow 

Which  beamed  so  bright  with  happiness  but  now. 

But  quick  his  heart  again  forbade  that  this 

Should  shadow  o'er  his  star  of  loveliness, 

As  it  recalled  the  cloud  which  thought  had  thrown 

Across  his  face, — yet  ere  't  was  wholly  gone, 

Her  upturned  eyes,  then  fixed  upon  his  own, 

With  love's  perception  marked  that  shadow  fade, 

Which  to  her  own  his  troubled  heart  betrayed. 

Then  thus  she  spoke:  "  My  Pasco,  must  I  trace 

One  line  of  sadness  falling  o'er  thy  face, 

Nor  know  the  sorrows  which  thy  heart  invade, 

And  thus  the  brightness  of  thine  eyes  o'ershade? 

Must  love  with  love  share  naught  but  happiness, 

Nor  make  its  own  the  sorrows  that  oppress 

The  heart  which  yields  the  only  joy  it  knows, 

From  which  the  essence  of  its  being  flows? 

Nay,  thus  to  share  thy  sorrows  but  shall  be 

To  add  to  love  a  keener  ecstasy; 

Nor  deem  thy  voice  one  accent  e'ei  can  tell 

To  pain  this  bosom — lest  it  be  farewell, 

For  still  with  thee  this  heart  can  know  no  pain, 

And  welcome  sorrow  when  we  part  again." 


28  CUBA. 

While  thus  she  spoke  proud  adoration  filled 

His  throbbing  heart,  with  quickening  pulses  thrilled, 

As  in  his  eyes  rose  those  all  holier  fires 

Which  pure  affection  in  the  breast  inspires, 

While  thus  devotion  in  her  heart  displayed 

New  springs  of  goodness  ne'er  before  betrayed, 

From  which  sweet  Faith  with  gracious  hand  supplied 

Entrancing  draughts,  thus  doubly  sanctified. 

But  when  of  parting  her  loved  accents  spoke, 

From  his  sweet  dream  of  happiness  he  woke, 

And  in  his  heart,  as  falls  a  funeral  knell, 

Broke  the  dread  portence  of  that  word,  farewell. 

Across  his  face  anew  pain's  shadow  crept, 

While  in  his  eyes  their  wonted  brightness  slept, 

As  sorrow-filled  they  sought  the  neighboring  sea, 

In  deep  unquiet,  as  he  made  reply. 

Then  thus  he  spoke:   "  My  Lolo,  could'st  thou  see 

Within  my  heart  its  weight  of  agony, 

That  from  thy  side  a  voice  all  must  obey — 

Liberty's  death-cry,  summons  me  away, 

Would  love  dare  hide  what  honor's  act  hath  done 

From  thee  e'en  still  my  own,  my  lovely  one, 

That  for  thy  sake  no  slightest  cloud  should  lower 

To  cast  one  shadow  in  this  longed  for  hour. 

Whence  now  I  come,  beset  by  tyrant  hate, 

Gathered,  our  brothers  for  the  struggle  wait; 

Wait  till  our  Cuba's  foes  again  shall  know 

Not  unavenged  her  children's  blood  shall  flow. 


CUBA.  29 

For  though  on  freedom  treads  the  oppressor's  heel, 

Crushing  it  downward,  shall  the  tyrants  feel 

For   them  from   freedom's   bleeding  wounds  shall 

flow 

A  vengeance  deadlier  than  their  hate  can  know. 
Yes,  I  have  dared  enlist  for  liberty 
The  life  which  love  consecrated  to  thee, 
'Neath  whose  promptings  returned  to  thee,  I  bear 
My  anxious  heart,  which  asks  thine  own  to  share 
Its  sacrifice, — the  strength  of  love  alone 
Love's  faltering  purpose  can  sustain,  sweet  one. 
The  midnight  passed  unknown  the  shades  of  fate, 
For  thee  my  heart  with  longing  pulses  beat, 
Whose  sweet  assurance  should  impart  new  life 
To  brave  the  perils  of  th'  impending  strife. 
Then,  though  't  was  death,  for  thee,  my  loveliness, 
Scaling  the  rocks  which  wall  the  mountain  pass 
Where  lie  our  band,  I  sought  the  neighboring  sea, 
Whose  friendly  billows  bore  me  safe  to  thee." 
She  heard,  yet  dared  not  trust  her  tongue  t'  impart 
The  cry  of  sorrow  echoing  in  her  heart, 
As  motionless  she  clung  to  his  embrace, — 
Save  that  along  her  frame  her  deep  distress 
A  tremor  sent,  the  coldness  of  despair 
Within  her  heart,  which  now  was  chilling  there. 
"  And  is  it  thus?  " — Then  shut  within  her  breast, 
By  sorrow  prisoned,  her  sad  accents  ceased, 
As  on  his  breast  she  sank, — a  drooping  flower, 


30  CUBA. 

Voiceless  beneath  that  grief  which  hath  but  power 

To  feel,  and  in  its  night  of  woe  to  see 

But  the  dark  image  of  its  agony! 

"  Nay  let  not  tears  bedim  thy  lustrous  eyes, 

Nor  cloud  of  sorrow  o'er  thy  beauty  rise, 

For  though  night  lowers  it  must  pass  away, 

And  oh,  what  brightness  waits  returning  day 

Before  the  sunlight  melts  along  the  main 

Its  waves  must  bear  me  to  our  band  again, 

While  hope  shall  guard  love's  consecrated  shrine, 

Which  sacred  charge  to  it  must  love  resign." 

"To  hope,"  she  sobbed,  "to  hope, whose  changeful 

ray, 

Ever  receding,  beams  but  to  betray, 
While  still  with  light  delusive  it  illumes 
The  mists  of  sorrow  which  it  ne'er  consumes. 
But  no  "  (and  now  in  calmer  voice  she  spoke, 
Though  from  her  breast  its  anguished  pulses  broke 
In  trembling  utterance),  "  no,  our  country's  need 
Must  not  unanswered  to  her  children  plead; 
And  shall  her  daughters  from  that  cup  once  shrink 
Which  to  its  dregs  her  sons  so  proudly  drink? 
Go  thou,  my  Pasco,  though  each  hour  shall  knell 
Its  wail  of  sorrow  from  this  sad  farewell, 
And  night  returning  in  each  breath  shall  sigh 
The  weary  reckoning  of  recurring  day 
Till  thy  return.     O  God,  should  this  be  not!" — 


CUBA.  31 

And    hope    shrank,    trembling,    from    that    diieful 

thought, 

As  one  wild  burst  of  anguish  swept  her  breast 
And  choked  its  pulses,  trembling  into  rest. 
Amid  the  flowers  he  laid  her  form,  and  now 
Smoothed  the  dark  tresses  from  her  pallid  brow, 
And  with  caresses,  as  o'er  he  kneeled, 
Sought  to  restore  the  life  which  pain  congealed, 
And  through  their  channels  from  her  heart  to  bear 
The  crowding  currents  which  were  chilling  there! 
A  spirit-tenderness  sought  her  sweet  face, 
Soothing  each  line  to  placid  loveliness; 
A  beatific  calm,  like  that  in  death 
Which  still  reflects,  though  ceased  fore'er  the  breath, 
The  soul's  last,  sweetest  smile,  serenely  spread 
O'er  the  all  but  living  features  of  the  dead. 
Now  raised  her  eyelids,  fringed  in  mourning  hue, 
Where  tears  were  trembling,  as  the  early  dew 
Trembles  in  beauty,  'neath  the  paling  night, 
Ere  well  the  sun  dissolves  it  into  light. 
On  him,  half  wondering,  fixed  her  saddened  eyes, 
Where  resignation  draped  love's  sympathies, 
Which  there  were  gathered,  with  her  sable  shade, 
For  hope  deep  in  the  heart's  sepulchre  laid. 

As  in  his  arms  he  raised  her  to  his  side, 
Around  his  neck  her  own  were  fondly  laid, 


$2  CUBA. 

While  that  pure  tribute,  love's  chaste   throbbings 

yield, 

Upon  his  lips  in  lingering  fear  was  sealed. 
"  Farewell,  my  Lolo,"  and  his  voice  betrayed 
The  deep  emotion  which  his  bosom  swayed; 
"Farewell;  the  night  must  to  my  comrades  prove 
That  Pasco's  honor's  stronger  than  his  love, 
And  shame  the  fear  which  stings  my  thought  to  view, 
That  to  his  country  Pasco  is  untrue. 


One  kiss — another — 

Now  alone  she  stood 

Amid  the  shades  of  grief's  dread  solitude, 
While  in  her  heart,  else  lifeless,  echoed  o'er 
Love's  anguished  accents:  "lost  for  evermore." 

VII. 

The  moon  high  o'er  El  Cobre's  sombre  height 
Dispelled  the  shades  of  the  unwelcome  night, 
Flooding  the  vale  and  towering  mountain  side 
In  silvery  light.     Ad  own  the  val'ley  gleamed 
In  gentle  curves,  the  river's  wandering  tide, 
Till  gliding  'twixt  a  chasmed  rock  it  seemed 
To  seek  repose  'neath  the  o'ershadowing  height, — 
Whose  frowning  brow  repelled  the  soft  moonlight,  — 
As  some  great  serpent  winds  its  weary  length 


CUBA.  33 

Into  the  darkness  of  the  cavern's  strength. 
Weired,  ominous,  like  dread  plutonian  shades, 
High  up  the  mount,  o'er  glooming  crag  and  pass, 
Ranged  the  dark  pines,  which  the   bright,   starry 

hosts, 

Sentryingthe  night,  seemed  watching  tremulous! 
No  sound  disturbed  the  stillness  save  the  cry 
Of  the  lone  night-bird,  calling  plaintively, 
With  the  soft  voice,  communing  with  the  night, 
Of  falling  water,  white  in  the  moonlight, 
Which  from  the  mountain  sought  the  river's  breast, 
And  with  it  mingling,  hushed  itself  to  rest. 
Far  up  the  height,  along  a  mountain  pass, 
Skirting  the  brink  of  measureless  abyss, 
Now    and    anon    gleamed,    'gainst    the    darkened 

height 

Of  rock  o'ertowering,  the  portentous  light 
Of  glist'ning  steel,  whose  momentary  gleams 
Chilled   the   soft   whiteness    of    the    moon's    pale 

beams. 

There  on  the  height  repose  the  patriots  sought, 
Slumbering  upon  their  arms,  yet  wakeful  caught 
The  voice  which  told  another  hour  had  gone 
That  cunning  Time  from  friendly  Night  had  won, 
As  in  the  mount's  defile  the  sentinel 
In  cautious  utterance  said,  "Men  all  is  well," 
Then  quick  again  upon  the  pass  he  stood, 
Courting  its  shades,  as  the  calm  solitude 


34  CUBA. 

Of  vale  and  pass  he  watched  with  jealous  care, — 
Ah!  who  could  dream  that  death  was  lurking  there? 


VIII. 

"  And  dost  thou  think  the  rebel  watch  can  sight 
From  where  thou  say'st  they  hold  yon  mountain 

height, 

The  stream  below,  where  shades  its  breadth  half  o'er 
Yon  darkening  cliff  ?     There  may  the  farther  short- 
Alone  be  reached;  too  deep  the  river's  bed 
Here,  where  concealed  these  friendly  shades  o'er- 

spread, 

To  ford  its  depths: — and  'tis  a  soldier's  creed 
If  men  must  die,  't  is  nobler  that  they  bleed; 
Then  if  our  foes  be  they  of  Yara's  fight, 
None  may  be  spared  who  strive  for  Spain  to-night. 
But  there  we  cross, — and  thou  canst  lead  us  on, 
As  thou  hast  said,  and  by  a  path  unknown?  " 

"  I  can,  my  chief;  within  a  gorge  it  ends, 

And  thence  the  way  'neath  towering  rocks  ascends 

To  a  plateau  where  lie  the  rebel  crew — 

The  pass  is  sure — the  rest  an  hour  must  show!" 

"  Thou  speakest  well.     Soldiers,"  he  turning,  said, — 

The  dark  battalion  there  beneath  the  shade 

Stood  motionless, — 


CUBA.  35 

"  The  enemies  of  Spain 

Keep  yonder  height,  nor  dream  ere  night  shall  wane 
The  rocks  that  now  their  rebel  slumbers  keep 
Loud  shall  re-echo  with  their  own  death- shriek. 
We  cross  below  where  yonder  rock  o'ershades; 
Look  to  your  arms;  see  that  no  naked  blades 
A  warning  bear  to  traitor  eyes,  for  know 
But  to  their  hearts  such  messengers  should  go." 
Then  to  the  guide:  "  Pepillo,  lead  the  way; 
Now  steady— March!  "     The  column  moved  away 
Along  the  stream,  and  silently  it  trod 
With  measured  cadence  o'er  the  yielding  sod. 
Soon  reached  the  ford,  they  halted.     "  Pepillo, 
Scan  well  the  height— say,  canst  thou  see  the  foe?  " 
"  Look   thou,  my  chief,  see'st  thou  that  gleam  of 

light? 

Wait  but  a  moment — now  upon  the  height 
Above  the  fall?  " 

"  Aye,  there— but  now  't  is  gone  "— 
"  Lose  not  a  moment " — 

"  Steady,  men,  as  one, 

March!" 

In  they  moved.     Invaded  thus,  the  stream 
Plaintively  murmured,  as  in  some  strange  dream 
The  restless  slumberer. 

— Soon  't  was  left  to  rest, 
And  scarce  a  ripple  trembled  on  its  breast. 
Traversed  the  plain,  'neath  the  disguising  wood 


36  CUBA. 

Soon  at  the  mount  the  halted  column  stood. 
Once  more  was  scanned  with  stealthy  eyes  the  height; 
Once  more  there  glimmered  that  betraying  light, 
As  the  clear  moon  illumed  the  pass,  till  now 
Veiled  by  the  shadows  from  the  cliffs  dark  brow. 
Beneath  the  pines  that  clothed  the  mountain  side 
The  chief  held  whispered  council  with  the  guide; 
Then  at  their  head,  prepared  to  lead  the  band, 
Pepillo  waited  for  the  chief's  command, 
Who  at  his  side  in  measured  whispers  said, 
While  all  stood  motionless  as  are  the  dead, 
"  Now  comrades,  softly;  muffle  e'en  your  breath, 
Nor  let  your  footsteps  tell  of  coming  death. 
When  reached  the  gorge,  by  fours  close  column  keep; 
Thence  scarce  ten  paces  where  the  rebels  sleep, 
Where  once  again  must  traitors'  bosoms  feel 
The  deadly  coldness  of  the  Spaniards'  steel." 


IX. 


Along  the  orient  sky  the  day, 

In  morning  robes  of  sombre  gray, 

Crept  on  apace,  as  Pasco  stood 

In  turn  to  guard  the  solitude 

Of  the  defile  and  vale  below, 

Which  now  the  moon — suspended  low, 

With  shadows  thronged, that  lengthening  loomed 


CUBA.  37 

Along  the  glen,  slow,  weirdly, 

Like  shades  of  Titan  forms  away 

From  their  tombs  summoned, — on  earth  doomed 

To  silence,  gathering  dark-plumed  there, 

As  if  the  dying  night  to  bear 

To  its  mysterious  sepulchre! 

Beneath  the  soothing  breath  of  morn 
His  comrades,  all  fatigued  and  worn 
By  marches  long  and  restless  sleep, 
Now  lay,  o'ercome,  in  slumber  deep, — 
Yet  wakeful  o'er  each  weary  breast 
One  thought  guarded  the  patriots'  rest: 
Ah,  but  for  this  it  had  been  mad 
To  trust  to  slumber  all  they  had 
In  hope,— from  freedom's  beckoning  star 
Which  brightly  beamed,  though  distant  far! 
That  thought  their  land,  which  to  such  hearts 
A  deathless,  double  life  imparts. 
An  hour  had  passed,  and  Pasco  stept 
Within  the  pass  to  where  still  slept 
His  comrades,  though  their  eyelids  lay 
Just  closed  by  sleep's  sweet  mystery. 
He  turned  the  cliff- 
Then  forward  sprang, 
As  on  the  startled  silence  rang, 
Rebounding  with  a  hundred  shocks 


38  CUBA. 

From  peak  to  peak  of  towering  rocks, 

His  carbine's  crash — the  signal  set 

Should  night  unmask  her  dread  alarms, 

And  they  surprised,  by  foes  beset, 

No  moment  find  to  call  to  arms — 

For  springing  from  a  neighboring  height, 

With  bayonets  glimmering  in  the  light 

Of  early  dawn,  he  there  beheld 

The  hated  foe, — as  wildly  swelled 

Those  maddening  pulses  in  his  breast 

Those  feel  by  tyranny  oppressed, 

•Which  know  no  wilder  throb  of  hate 

Than  that  when  face  to  face  they  meet 

Their  Despot's  slaves,  who  crav'n  would  dare 

To  bind  them  with  the  chains  they  wear! 

Quick  as  his  thought  his  lead  as  true, 

Struck  from  the  cliff  a  foeman  low; 

Nor  had  the  signal  failed,  as  told 

A  crash  of  musketry  which  rolled, 

Re-echoing  with  the  thunder's  might 

From  where  the  patriots  held  the  height, 

'Neath  which  above  the  crash  arose 

The  death-shriek  of  a  score  of  foes, 

Which  from  the  patriots  brought  a  cry 

Of  stern,  defiant  mockery. 

Then  quick,  in  fierce  reply,  out-rang, 

As  Pasco  'midst  his  comrades  sprang, 

A  volley  from  the  Spaniard  band, 


CUBA.  39 

Now  closing  fas  t  on  every  hand, 

And  'neath  its  storm  of  iron  hail 

Full  many  a  noble  patriot  fell, 

Employing  still  ere  hushed  by  death, 

The  accents  of  his  latest  breath 

In  freedom's  name,  as  to  her  foes 

His  shout  of  proud  defiance  rose. 

As  sweeps  the  waves'  impetuous  might 

Against  the  cliffs  opposing  height, 

Their  foam- locks  streaming  in  the  storm, 

Each  like  some  fierce,  demoniac  form, 

On  rushing  with  resistless  force 

The  strength  which  seeks  to  stay  their  course, 

Till  backward  hurled  in  turn  they  lie 

Low  quivering  in  their  parent  sea, 

Again  to  rise — and  yet  again; 

As  oft'  flung  backward  to  the  main, 

Yet  shivering  as  they  fiercely  rush 

The  rock-firm  height  they  may  not  crush! 

So  now,  with  bayonets  set,  and  hair 

Back  floating  on  the  troubled  air, 

No  time  for  aught  save  steel  now  left, 

Forward  the  island  patriots  swept, 

Led  on, — if  aught  the  brave  e'er  lead, 

By  Pasco,  waving  at  their  head 

Their  country's  flag,  full  proud  to  give 

Their  lives,  that  its  loved  cause  might  live. 

Fired  by  the  madly  coursing  blood 

Which  swelled  each  pulse,  a  frenzying  flood, 


4O  CUBA. 

Upon  the  hireling  foe  they  dashed 
Undaunted,  though  out-belching  flashed, 
Full  in  their  course,  a  withering  breath 
Of  flame-red-tongued,  which  seethed  with  death. 
Mute  as  the  dead,  nor  stopped,  nor  stayed, 
With  fixed  eyes  and  jaws  close  laid; 
Each  springing  where  a  comrade  fell, 
There  summoned  by  his  last  death-yell, 
Breathing  that  atmosphere  of  hell! 
Onward  they  swept  like  wave  on  rock, 
Till  now,  with  all  resistless  shock, 
Closing  upon  the  foe,  they  rushed — 
Beneath  that  shock,  recoiling,  crushed 
Down — down,  as  many  a  bosom  writhed 
Beneath  the  freezing  steel  there  sheathed; 
That  lingered  not,  but  quick  once  more 
With  tireless  vengeance  reeked  in  gore 
From  breast  to  breast,  congealing  there 
The  currents  stagnant  'neath  despair, 
Till  cleft  the  arm  which  urged  it  fell 
Low  quivering  in  its  purple  rill! 

High  swelled  the  frightful  din  of  war, 
The  wild  death-shriek;  the  shivering  jar 
Of  splintering  steel;  the  stifled  groan, 
Half  choked  ere  breathed;  the  fitful  moan 
From  life's  low  pulse;  the  sabres'  clash; 
The  murd'rous  volley,  flash  on  flash; 
The  locking  bayonets,  rent  apart. 


CUBA,  41 

To  plunge  revengeful  in  each  heart, 

As  if,  imbued  with  very  life, 

Conscious  they  shared  their  masters'  strife! 

Now  backward  forced,  scarce  half  remain, 

But  step  by  step — then  yet  again 

Fierce  dashing  on  the  wavering  foe, 

Each  laid  another  Spaniard  low, 

As  sinews  straining,  hand  to  hand, 

The  few  still  left  of  that  brave  band — 

Pale  as  the  dead;  each  forehead  set 

With  beads  of  cold,  congealed  sweat; 

Sprang  at  a  foe,  defiant  still, 

In  hate  which  death  alone  could  kill. 

Ah!  who  that  awful  shock  may  tell, 

When  waves  of  human  anger  swell 

In  fierce  contention;  battling  where 

Meet  livid  hate  and  grim  despair; 

Who  paint  that  hour  of  frenzied  strife 

When  passion  spares  not — asks  not  life; 

Nor  thrills  to  joy's  exultant  breath 

As  to  the  closing  cry  of  death 

Forced  from  the  heart  wherein  the  steel 

It  presses  with  a  savage  zeal! 

Beset  as  one  of  wolves  the  prey, 
O'ermatching  numbers  kept  at  bay, 
Back  forced,  contesting  foot  by  foot; 
Red-stained  from  many  a  streaming  cut, 
There  Pasco,  foremost  in  the  fray, 


42  CUBA. 

Battled  the  foe  defiantly! 

Above  his  head  the  flag  he  held, 

One  arm  but  free  its  folds  to  shield, 

Which  wielded  with  resistless  might 

His  sabre, — busiest  in  the  fight. 

Struck  from  his  hands  the  colors  lay. 

Forward  he  dashed:  the  foe  gave  way, 

Save  one  more  bold  who  dared  contest 

His  way,  and  sought  from  him  to  wrest 

The  prize  regained,  but  all  in  vain — 

One  more  was  numbered  with  the  slain! 

As  up  his  height  he  proudly  drew, 

And  fearless  scoffed  the  hated  foe. 

But  the  fast  ebbing  scarlet  tide 

Down  coursing  from  this  breast  and  side, 

Had  sapped  his  life,  and  his  proud  cry 

Broke  in  a  gasp  of  agony! 

Fast  on  their  victim  doomed  they  press — 

Back  yielding,  till  by  deep  abyss, 

From  which  up-rose  a  doleful  roar, 

Like  that  from  waves  which  beat  the  shore, 

Far  distant  heard,  now  Pasco  stood 

Defiant  still — still  unsubdued, 

While  round  him,  eager  for  his  life, 

His  foes  fast  closed.     The  torrent's  strife, 

Deep  down  the  gorge,  he  heard,  and  knew 

It  swept  unmeasured  depths  below, 

Nor  aught  between  where  hope  could  trace 

For  Daring's  foot  a  refuge  place! 


CUBA.  43 

Then  the  first  fear  his  bosom  knew 

Cast  o'er  his  face  a  pallid  hue, 

As  there  commingling  curdled  stood 

Out-starting  drops  of  sweat  and  blood. 

One  glance  quick  sought  the  foe-kept  pass; 

Quick  one  the  yawning  precipice, 

Then  with  a  shout  of  proud  disdain, 

A  challenge  to  the  arms  of  Spain! 

He  turned  and  down  the  canon  leaped, 

Still  grasped  the  flag  so  bravely  kept; 

So  nobly  borne  in  life,  't  was  meet 

In  death  't  should  be  his  winding-sheet. 

X. 

The  struggle  o'er,  in  death's  embrace 

Each  patriot  soldier,  face  to  face 

There  with  his  foe,  sank  down  to  rest, 

Undrawn  the  steel  from  many  a  breast. 

The  sunbeams  there  that  morning  played 

On  many  a  shattered  sabre  blade 

Still  grasped— with  strength  which,  yieldlessly, 

Surviving  life,  seemed  to  defy 

E'en  death — by  those  who,  now  laid  low 

Fore'er,  there  but  an  hour  ago 

Opposed  them  in  that  deadly  strife, 

Refusing,  as  they  spared  not  life  ! 

Still  now  the  scene,  which  but  before 

Re-echoed  with  fierce  battle's  roar; 


44  CUBA. 

And  mingling  there  together  flowed 
The  Patriots'  and  the  Spaniards'  blood. 
No  sign  of  life  was  seen  save  where 
The  vulture  hovering  high  in  air 
Amid  the  sky's  ethereal  blue, 
Looked  down  upon  the  scene  below. 
As  they  had  fall'n,  so  there  they  lay 
Till  Time  should  hide  them  in  decay; 
Nor  lived  one  of  that  band  to  tell 
How  Cuba's  valiant  children  fell! 


MAY. 


A    PASTORAL. 

Spreads  th*  fresh  verdure  of  the  fields  and  leads 
The  dancing  Naiads  through  the  dewy  meads." 

Cowper. 


I. 

Hail  vernal  goddess  with  thy  floral  train! 

Nor  from  thy  praises  can  my  Muse  refrain, 

As  thou,  approaching  with  thy  bright-clad  throng, 

Awak'st  the  earth  to  merriment  and  song. 

With  loudest  praise  't  would  welcome  thee  again 

As  thy  swift  forces  drive  back  o'er  the  main 

With  shafts  of  sunlight,  from  the  blighted  earth, 

The  ice-shod  powers  of  the  frozen  North! 

It  would  thy  course  o'er  hill  and  mead  pursue. 

As  all  thou  deck'st  with  robes  of  richest  hue, 

And  strew'st  with   flowers  whose  countless  challice 

blooms 
Upon  the  air  exhale  their  sweet  perfumes. 

Beneath  bright  skies,  fresh-azured  from  thy  hand, 
Which  smiling  bend  t'  embrace  the  waiting  land, 
Adorned  by  thee,  see  kindly  mother  Earth 
Invite  a-field  her  children.     Health  and  Mirth, 
(45) 


46  MAY. 

Laughter  and  joy  respond  exultantly, 

And  haste  to  join  thy  jocund  company, 

While  on  glad  wing,  upon  thy  course  attend 

The  plumaged  choir  called  from  the  summer-land. 

Close  in  thy  steps,  by  sportive  Frolic  led, 
The  merry  cortege  gambols  o'er  the  mead, 
While  songs  of  gladness  fill  the  scene  around, 
Which  hill  and  dale  harmoniously  resound, 
Borne  by  the  swift-winged  zephyrs  through  the  air, 
Till  Joy's  full  voice  reechoes  everywhere! 

II. 

All  beauteous  Spring!  thou  darling  of  the  spheres, 
Before  whose  smile  shamed  Winter  disappears; 
His  face  conceals  yet  lingers  to  survey 
The  glad'ning  prospects  which  thy  charms  display. 
What  are  thy  charms  let  Nature's  self  declare 
To  those  who  doubting  to  her  courts  repair, 
Where  scenes  delightful  stretch  on  every  hand, 
When  thou  with  beauty  spread'st  the  smiling  land. 
Thy  glory — not  the  pageantry  of  kings, 
My  Muse  adoring  all  enraptured  sings; 
Not  wealth's  vain  pomp,  which  partial  Fate  bestows 
Upon  the  few  to  mock  the  many's  woes — 
Sinking  its  slaves  in  luxuries  that  blind 
Till  man  becomes  unfaithful  to  mankind; 
Not  thus  with  thee:  with  bounty  prodigal, 
Impartially  dost  thou  dispense  to  all, 


MAY.  47 

Around  the  peasant  in  his  lowly  cot, 
Strewing  thy  gifts  where  princes  are  forgot, 
Nor  circumscribed  'mong  all  earth's  kind  appears 
The  meanest  being  but  thy  riches  shares! 

And  thus  thy  hands  e'en  o'er  the  lonely  dead, 
Richest  of  flowers  with  lavish  kindness  spread, 
Whose  blossoms  laden  with  most  rare  perfume, 
Attest  thy  memory  of  the  silent  tomb. 
There  where  the  cherished  of  our  hearts  repose 
When  reached  that  bourne  where  life's  tired  foot 
steps  close 

Beneath  o'er-bending  shades  they  brightly  bloom, 
Tinting  the  deepening  shadows  of  the  tomb, 
By  thee  from  earth,  'neath  winter's  blight  there  laid, 
Raised  to  new  life — fit  emblems  of  the  dead. 
There,  like  sweet  guardian  angels  they  appear, 
Breathing  rich  incense  on  the  hallowed  air 
And,  spirit-voiced,  in  language  love  may  know, 
Commune  with  us  of  those  who  sleep  below, 
While  their  pure  symbols  to  fond  memory  give 
The  sweet  assurance  that  they  erer  live. 

But  still  the  glories  of  thy  work  I  sing, 
O  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly  Spring! 
Amid  thy  scenes  delighted  still  I  stray, 
And  all  thy  charms  with  fondest  joy  survey. 
O'er  hill  and  dale  behold  the  forests  bare, 
The  foremost  subject  of  thy  generous  care, 


48  MAY. 

To  thee  out-stretching  their  denuded  arms, 

Impatient  for  the  robes  and  floral  charms 

Thou  bringest  them — their  shivering  limbs  long  bare 

To  hostile  winter's  rough  and  frigid  air, 

Soon  verdure  clad,  they  stand  magnificent: 

Of  thy  great  work  the  grandest  monument! 

III. 

As  the  fresh  Morn,  pluming  her  wings  of  light, 
Suffused  with  beauty  takes  her  joyous  flight 
From  the  blue  arch  that  holds  the  orient  sky, 
Which  her  bright  wings  with  roseate  tints  supply: 
When  the  first  beams  of  the  approaching  day 
With  aureate  splendor  gild  earth,  sky,  and  sea, — 
That  tranquil  hour  which  Contemplation  loves, 
When  Nature  from  her  dewy  slumber  moves, — 
How  sweet  to  wander  o'er  the  smiling  fields, 
And  breathe  the  fragrance  Nature's  garden  yields, 
As,  one  by  one,  the  waking  songsters  raise 
From  hedge  and  branch  their  grateful  matin  lays, 
With  tuneful  brooks  and  music-whispering  trees, 
Greeting  the  morn  with  sweetest  symphonies. 
There  crowning  all  in  the  delightful  scene, 
The  sun  with  gold  floods  earth's  imperial  green, 
As  on  the  view  come  forth  in  glorious  birth 
Unnumbered  flowers  to  deck  their  mother  earth, 
Till  field  and  forest,  clad  in  radiant  light 
Stand  forth  all  beauteous — rapturing  the  sight, 
As  wakened  Nature  in  glad  concert  sings, 


MAY.  49 

By  warblers  led,  who  with  applauding  wings, 
Softly  accordant,  swell  the  praiseful  hymn 
Which  heavenward  rises,  incensed  by  perfume! 

High  'mid  the  blue  the  lark  pours  his  glad  song, 
And  hurrying  by  the  swallow  skims  along, 
While  the  swift  plover  as  she  upward  springs 
Flashes  the  sunbeams  from  her  lightning  wings. 
The  faithful  redbreast,  first  of  all  the  year, 
Sings  to  its  mate  in  numbers  softly  clear, 
And  gives  good-morrow  to  the  whistling  thrush, 
Who  sends  her  greeting  from  a  neighboring  bush. 
Along  the  meads  brooks  babble  as  they  run, 
O'er  pebbles  irridescent  'neath  the  sun, 
With  smiles  for  every  flower  and  every  blade 
Which  their  glad  course  attend  through  wood  and 

glade, 

Along  their  marge  the  clustering  cresses  grow 
Fringing  the  banks,  where  new-born  violets  blow. 
Whence  thick  a-field,  gilding  the  velvet  mead, 
The  regal  king-cups  their  gold  livery  spread, 
While  everywhere  o'er  field  and  woodland  sway 
In  balmy  breezes  the  sweet  flowers  of  May. 
Upon  some  mount  that  overlooks  the  mead 
Reclined,  the  view  commanding  wood  and  glade, 
Whence  to  the  hills  the  freshly  verdured  ground 
In  graceful  undulations  spreads  around, 
How  rapturous  on  each  lovely  scene  to  dwell 
And,  yielding  to  sweet  Meditation's  spell, 


50  MAY. 

To  contemplate  Nature's  stupendous  scheme, 

Wondrous  creation  of  a  Power  supreme! 

On  every  hand  some  lesson  man  may  learn, 

In  every  flower  some  sacred  truth  discern, 

In  beauty  shown,  fresh  from  the  source  of  all 

Given  to  man  by  wisdom  bountiful. 

View  'mid  sharp  thorns  the  rose  her  beauty  wears, 

E'en  as  the  thorn  the  sweetest  blossoms  bears; 

Mark  the  meek  violet,  and  the  giant  tree, 

Share  His  regard,  each  in  required  degree, 

All  eloquent,  His  high  munificence 

Proclaim,  and  show  impartial  Providence! 

The  day  is  done — and  evening  gently  veils 
In  violet  light  the  hills;  the  wooded  dales 
In  deeper  tints,  as  'neath  the  western  dome 
The  twilight  lingers  till  the  stars  be  come, 
The  lowing  herd  slow  homeward  wends  its  way; 
Each  drowsy  member  following  o'er  the  lea — 
Loitering  a  moment  at  the  wayside  stream 
On  which  the  last  faint  flecks  of  daylight  gleam. 

Amid  the  wood,  sings  modest  Philomel; 

Upon  the  silence  her  love  madrigal 

As  sweetly  falling  as  the  tinkling  rill 

Heard  through  the  midnight  when  all  else  is  still. 

Softly  quick  Echo,  wakened  at  the  strain, 

Replies  accordant  to  the  sweet  refrain 


MAY.  51 

From  secret  haunts  which  none  but  wood-nymphs 

know, 

Save  the  Enchantress  of  the  lunar  bow. 
Soon  dewy  showers  disturb  the  evening  lay, 
And  Philomela's  warblings  die  away, 
As  with  her  Echo  sinks  into  repose, 
And  silence  o'er  the  earth  her  mantle  throws. 

Thou  God  of  Life,  all-wise,  all-bountiful! 
Eternal  One!  as  thou  art  source  of  all 
The  riches  which  the  ladened  Seasons  bear 
To  fill  the  Earth  with  beauty  everywhere, 
The  power — the  glory  which  my  grateful  theme 
Would  celebrate  unto  Thy  sacred  name 
Alone  belong,  as  the  revolving  spheres 
With  countless  tongues,  along  the  rolling  years, 
Ceaseless  proclaim!     Still  ever  be  it  mine 
To  swell  the  praises  of  Thy  power  divine; 
To  know  Thee  ever  as  Thou  dost  reveal 
Thyself  in  Nature,  where  Invisible 
Doth  name  Thee  not,  Almighty  One!  for  there 
In  love  and  power  configured  Thou  dost  appear! 


THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM. 
I. 

'Tis  Christmas  eve,  and  a  cold  clear  night, 

And  the  earth  is  filled  with  the   white  moon-light, 

Which  falls  through  the  frosty  air  from  on  high, 

From  the  crystal  blue  of  a  winter's  sky, 

And  glistening  rests  on  the  drifted  snow, 

And  gleams  on  the  half-iced  stream  below; 

And  the  slumbering  earth,  robed  in  white,  arrays 

With  multitudinous  diamond  sprays, 

By  the  Frost-king  there  unradiant  strewn, 

Till  illumed  by  the  white-fire  touch  of  the  moon. 

II. 

Round  the  mountain's  base  the  river  glides, 

'Neath  the  shadowy  pine  on  its  rugged  sides, 

And  creeps  through  the  vale  by  the  evergreen  shade; 

By  the  fringing  willows,  all  leafless  made; 

By  the  hazel-copse,  by  the  ice-bound  wheel 

Of  the  moated,  long  unbusy  mill, 

And  into  the  quiet  burg  hard  by, 

Whose  quaint  tile  roofs  sharply  rise  on  high, 

Then  onward  flows  to  the  distant  wood, 

Where  its  voice  alone  stirs  the  solitude. 

(52) 


THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM.   53 
III. 

The  village  church  caps  a  neighboring  hill, 

O'ergrown  with  ivy  and  tufted  moss, 

'Neath  giant  poplars  weirdly  still, 

Which  a  shadowy  net-work  weave  across 

The  snow's  white  folds  on  roof  and  tower, 

(There  deftly  spread  as  by  magic  power); 

While  above  gleams    the   spire   with    its   cross    on 

high, 
Set  'mid  the  brilliants  that  fill  the  sky. 

IV. 

From  the  gothic  windows  a  dim  light  creeps 
Through  the  colored  panes,  and  softly  glows 
On  the  whitened  sills,  where  it  restless  sleeps, 
Or  steals  o'er  the  clustering  moss  that  grows 
On  mullion  and  transom  and  eaves  above, 
(By  lacing  ivy  there  interwove); 
Then  fades  within — to  appear  again 
Softly  tinting  the  many-colored  pane. 

V. 

Old  Kasper,  the  sexton,  had  wrought  within 
As  the  midnight  hour  crept  on  apace, 
With  clusters  of  holly  and  evergreen 
Adorning  the  walls  of  the  holy  place, 
Till  weary  grown;  yet  with  heart  aglow 
As  he  thinks  of  the  morrow's  eve,  and  how 
The  children,  with  faces  alight,  will  press 


54   THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM. 

Round  the  Christmas  tree  in  its  loveliness. 
Now  a  little  rest,  as  he  croons  a  hymn, 
He  seeks  in  a  cushioned  sconce,  the  while 
In  the  flickering  light,  growing  yet  more  dim, 
O'erscanning  the  drapings  in  chancel  and  aisle; 
And  reclining  thus — soothed  the  tired  sight 
'Neath  cradling  shadows  that  flit  and  creep, — 
Unconscious  he  drifts  'neath  the  trance  of  night 
And  the  mind,  flower-wise,  folds  itself  in  sleep. 

VI. 

Tis  the  Elfin  band  who  all  silently 

Weave  the  web  of  sleep,  have  him  captive  ta'en 

And  laid  'neath  the  spell  of  their  sorcery 

They  bind  him  tight  with  their  silken  chain, 

And  in  shadowy  folds,  which  they  weave  from  night. 

They  muffle  him  close  for  their  mystic  flight. 

'Tis  the  potent  watch  of  the  Elfin  reign, 

And  they  gather  fast  on  every  hand, 

And  soon  at  their  visored  chiefs  command 

Is  their  captive  borne  to  their  bright  domain, 

To  the  golden  scenes  of  the  vision-land. 

Swift  as  thought  its  enchanted  bounds  they  pass 

And  its  brilliance  breaks  'neath  the  bluest  height 

Of  a  fairyland  bathed  in  roseate  light, 

Filled  with  throngs  of  its  airy  populace. 

And  they  move  through  grottos  with  jewels  bright, 

Glittering  many-hued  in  the  rich  rose-light, 


THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM.   55 

That  steals  within,  with  the  perfumed  air, 
From  the  flower-filled  dells  of  the  mystic  sphere, 
Half  seen  beyond,  'twixt  the  arches  high, 
Whence  comes  the  sound  of  festivity. 

VII. 

The  shadowy  veil  from  the  captive  falls 

And  his  bonds  change  to  garlands  of  blossoms  rare, 

And  they  onward  move  as  when  pleasure  calls 

And  gladness  and  beauty  is  everywhere. 

And  thus  to  the  royal  court  they  come; 

Reared  on  tinted  marbles  its  crystal  dome, 

Round  circling  in  graceful  colonnades, 

With  fountains  between,  'neath  emblossomed  shades, 

And  in  the  midst  on  an  ivory  throne, 

(Its  seat  irridescent  opal  stone), 

Sits  the  Fairy-Queen  robed  in  lily  white, 

And  crowned  with  a  circlet  of  diamond  light. 

VIII. 

On  every  side  'neath  her  gracious  smile 
Her  people  the  festive  hours  beguile 
In  merry  round,  while  on  busy  wing 
Some  richest  fruits  to  the  banquet  bring. 
For  in  fairy  realm, — as  proclaims  the  scene 
With  its  joy,  good  cheer  and  emblems  green 
Speaking  grateful  praise, — 'tis  a  time  of  feast 
And  thanksgiving  for  a  danger  past 


56   THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM. 

To  a  noble  king  who  freed  their  land 
From  a  giant  grim,  and  on  every  hand 
Rarest  fruits  are  spread,  and  glad  heralds  call 
Fairyland  to  the  royal  festival. 

IX. 

They  gather  fast  from  glade  and  grot, 
Elves  and  sylvan  sprites  and  butterfly  fays, 
Their  little  forms  decked  in  textures  wrought 
From  flowers  and  broidered  with  gossamer  rays, 
And  they  join  in  the  bright  festivities, 
Till  the  scene  with  their  bouyant  gladness  rings, 
While  the  air  is  filled  with  sweet  harmonies 
From  their  tinkling  spangles  and  tuneful  wings. 

X. 

But  all  is  hushed  ;  for  the  fairy- queen 
Stands  forth,  and  surveying  with  gracious  mien 
The  throngs  which  gallery  and  court-ways  fill, 
Thus  in  accents  clear  speaks  the  sovereign  will  :- 
"  Our  much-loved  people,  most  glad  are  we 
To  welcome  you  all  to  our  royal  fete, 
On  this  festal  day  when  the  memory 
Of  our  Champion-King  we  celebrate. 
Throughout  the  bounds  of  our  goodly  State 
To  share  our  joy  we  have  called  you  here, 
And  your  presence  with  loving  heart  we  greet, 
The  humblest  alike  with  our  highest  r>eer. 


THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM.    57 

So  all  strangers  sojourning  in  our  domain, 
Have  we  bidden  come — alike  welcome  all, 
For  all  hearts  should  meet  on  love's  equal  plane 
This  day  of  love's  grateful  festival. 

"  To-day,  as  he  whom  we  honour  came 

Of  his  own  free  will  and  kingly  grace 

To  save  our  realm,  love  alone  should  claim 

Our  hearts  and  therein  all  else  displace, 

While  each  for  the  other's  happiness 

Gives  foremost  thought,  as  true  love  e'er  will, 

And  so  shall  the  hours  most  joyous  pass 

And  goodness  her  highest  charge  fulfill. 

For  the  choice  first-fruits  which  our  people  bring, 

As  their  custom  'tis  from  year  to  year, 

An  oblation  to  our  most  honoured  king, 

We  yield  due  thanks.     We  ourselves  shall  'bear 

Your  offerings  to  him  whom  we  all  revere, 

For  in  honouring  him  most  honour  we 

Ourselves  and  the  State  we  hold  most  dear, 

Which  to  him  proudly  yields  its  fealty. 

"  And  now  let  the  feast  proceed.     Let  all 
In  our  joy  and  good  cheer  participate, 
While  the  Dance  and  Song  in  glad  carnival 
Rule  the  hour.     Let  each  present  emulate 
The  next  in  mirth  till  our  banquet  hall 
With  rejoicings  loud  reverberates; 


58   THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM. 

While  all  hearts  are  linked  in  a  chain  of  love 
That  not  fate  nor  the  tides  of  years  can  move." 

XI. 

The  Sovereign  ceased.     A  round  of  glad  acclaim 
And  greetings  followed,  till  the  sound  did  seem 
To  fill  the  air,  yet  soft  as  music  is 
Of  trebles  sweet  in  gentlest  harmonies. 
Poised  o'er  the  throne  or  gliding  on  swift  wing 
The  fays  of  air  moved  gaily — scattering 
About  their  Queen  rare  floral  sweets,  whose  blooms 
Imbued  the  air  with  delicate  perfumes. 

XII. 

Throughout,  the  dwellers  in  this  mystic  sphere 
Greeted  with  joy  their  stranger  visitor, 
Tendering  rich  fruits  where'er  he  chanced  to  pass, 
As  curtsying  low  with  smiles  and  airy  grace, 
Or  strewing  blossoms  as  he  moved  along 
Entranced  with  wonder  'mid  the  Fairy  throng ; 
Wondering  the  while  that  so  much  beauty  dwelt 
So  close  to  earth,  unknown — unguessed — unfelt. 
*          -x-          *          #• 

XIII. 

So  sped  the  hours — how  swiftly  do  they  fly 
When  only  gladness  bears  them  company  ; 
When  the  rapt  soul  is  moved  by  joy  alone 
And  recollection  of  all  else  is  gone  ; 
So  sped  the  hours, — enchanting  as  they  passed, 


THE  OLD  SEXTON'S  CHRISTMAS  DREAM.   59 

Sparkling  with  beauty  all  too  bright  to  last. 

And  now  appeared  high  'mid  the  luminous  air, 

Flashing  fresh  beams  of  beauty  everywhere. 

A  form  refulgent ;  than  all  else  more  bright 

Bathing  the  scene  in  wonder-working  light. 

Investing  all ;  each  ray  a  shaft  of  flame, 

In  might  increasing  as  it  grandly  came, 

Till  it  did  seem  as  its  full  glory  rilled 

The  scene,  (quick  at  the  radiant  advent  stilled 

To  breathless  calm)  all  in  its  strength  to  hold 

And  to  transfigure  into  shimmering  gold. 

The  ambient  blue  dissolved  ;  a  tremulous  glow 

Of  opal  splendor  flooded  all  below, 

As  countless  hues  there  glittering  but  before, 

Slow  fading  from  the  view,  were  seen  no  more. 

Yet  though  bereft  of  color  still  remained 

Each  form  and  outline  in  the  vision-land, 

But  silent  now  and  motionless — a  sight 

Of  phantom  pictures  melting  into  light. 

Then  'neath  its  power,  soon  all  potential  grown, 

The  fairy  realm  ;  its  populace,  the  throne 

To  formless  light  were  fused — 

And  Kasper  woke 

As  on  his  face,  through  the  church  windows,  broke 
The  rising  sun  ;  the  sun  of  Christmas  day 
Flooding  the  earth  with  its  resplendent  ray. 


CHATTERTON. 


;  That  marvellous  boy  that  perished  in  his  pride." 

Wordsworth. 


Inspire,  O  Muse,  the  sadd'ning  theme  I  raise 
To  one  who  loved  thy  presence, — sang  thy  praise 
In  sweetest  voice  of  all  thy  minstrel  choir 
From  the  first  hour  his  fingers  swept  the  lyre 
Received  from  thee, — its  dulcet  strings  supplied 
From  silver  in  that  fire  purified 
Which  in  the  temple  of  thy  sacred  hill, 
Though  now  but  smouldering,  warms  thy  altar  still. 
Inspire  my  theme:  a  theme  adorned  to  grace 
The  sweetest  song,  the  noblest  minstrel's  lays, 
To  one  whose  lyre,  so  rich  its  numbers  came, 
Shed  a  new  glory  on  thy  sacred  name. 
A  heaven-born  spirit  which  from  its  bright  sphere 
Wandering  to  earth,  lingered  a  little  here 
To  sing  the  songs  which  it  had  known  before 
With  kindred  spirits  on  the  Elysian  shore, — 
Earth's  tongue  in  their  celestial  harmonies 
Re-echoing  here  the  music  of  the  skies! 
(60) 


CHATTERTON.  6l 

Sweet  bard!  how  bright  thy  sun  of  promise  rose, 
Yet  oh,  what  shadows  gathered  toward  the  close, 
And  ere  it  reached  the  height  of  life's  noon-day 
Fore'er  in  darkness  quenched  its  wondrous  ray. 
-  How  bright  that  sun,  behold  where  passed  its  light 
A  ray  of  glory  illumines  death's  night, 
Yielding  a  beam  immortal  to  that  fire 
Which  on  Fame's  height  lights  Genius'  sacred  pyre. 

As  lesser  spheres  a  symmetry  do  show 

As  truly  perfect  as  the  greater,  so 

The  narrowed  circle  of  thy  life  not  less 

Perfection  showed  for  its  littleness, 

Where,  like  the  planet  with  the  belt  of  light, 

Thy  star  of  Genius  blazed  along  the  height 

Of  fame  unique;  and  though  so  quickly  gone, 

Gave  forth  a  glory  which  was  all  thine  own. 

Of  all  mankind  the  Muse  did  e'er  endow 

'Twas  thine  alone  mature  in  youth  to  know. 

"  The  gift  divine,"  wherein  thou  didst  display — 

An  inspiration  but  revealed  in  thee, 

With  genius,    knowledge;    knowledge  e'en  earth's 

Seers 
Amazed  beheld — to  all  the  work  of  years  ! 

Amid  the  quiet  of  primeval  woods, 
Where  the  sweet  voices  of  its  solitudes 
Contentment  breathed,  the  brook,  the  meek-faced 

flower, 
The  grateful  songster,  and  in  night's  still  hour 


62  CHATTERTON. 

The  stars  were  thy  sweet  loves,  still  sought  by  thee 

With  more  than  fondest  lover's  constancy, 

Drawn  to  their  chasteness  by  that  force  that  gives 

To  love  to  seek  its  own  correlatives. 

With  the  eternal  hills  :  the  great,  deep  sea 

Familiar  didst  thou  commune  ;  they  to  thee 

Were  but  as  loved  companions.      With  dread  voice 

The  Tempest,  robed  in  night,  earth,  sea  and  skies 

Stirring  to  strife — as  through  the  trembling  air, 

Hurling  its  bolts  it  swept,  its  course  the  glare 

Of  the  fierce  lightnings  'luming, — was  to  thee 

A  sight  which  gave  thy  soul  supremacy 

Of  joy,  as  with  the  Storm-king's  awful  form 

Attendant  rode  thy  spirit  on  the  storm  ! 

Thy  faithful  heart, — e'en  as  the  clinging  vine 
Struck  by  the  worm,  round  its  loved  ones  did  twine 
Its  richest  offerings,  yielding  sweetest  breath 
E'en  while  below  cankered  the  worm  of  death. 
Thy  love  its  rich  warm  soil ;  its  only  air 
Draughts  humid  'neath  the  cold  mists  of  despair  ; 
Its  only  light,  hope's  distant,  dying  ray, 
A  spark  expiring  in  eternal  day  ! 

Relentless  fate,  inexplicable  doom  ! 

Which  thus  consigned  thy  genius  to  the  tomb, 

And  swept  thy  hopes  ;  thy  promise  richly  fair 

Into  the  grave  to  sleep  forever  there, 

Nor  let  thee  know  in  life's  resigning  breath 

The  kindred  voice  that  soothes  the  pain  of  death. 


CHATTERTON  63 

Then  in  thy  mind  bright  scenes  forever  past, 
Upon  thy  soul  distracting  shadows  cast, 
To  make  thine  anguish  still  but  deeper  grow, 
Till  thou  hadst  supped  the  very  dregs  of  woe  -} 
While — as  the  lightning's  momentary  flight 
Illumes  the  clouds,  encumbering  the  night, 
And  breaks  the  darkness  of  the  midnight  sky 
But  to  increase  its  black  intensity, — 
Memories  of  home  within  thy  hapless  breast 
Flashed  through  despair's   thick  cloud  that  round 

thee  pressed, 

Which  in  their  brightness  served  but  to  illume 
And  show  how  dark  the  shadows  of  the  tomb, 
And,  passed  away,  in  thy  distracted  mind, 
Left  a  dread  darkness  doubly  black  behind. 

Insatiate  Pride  !     beneath  thy  direful  sway, 
Thou  scourge  of  earth,  thou  subtle  votary 
Of  Death  !  of  Genius  all  thou  mayst  o'ercome, 
How  oft  hath  sought  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 
Youth,  Beauty,  Worth,  earth's  mightiest  thy  prey  j 
O'erthrown  by  thee  see  Nations  in  decay, 
Of  which  thou'st  left, — of  Genius,  Nations  all, 
But  monuments  to  show  how  great  their  fall. 
Serpent-like,  coiled  within  that  hapless  breast, 
Implacable  !     'Twas  thou  his  life  oppressed  ; 
With  lying  tongue  on  to  destruction,  stilled 
The  voice  of  reason,  thou  his  steps  beguiled, 


64  CHATTERTON. 

Then  e'en  when  most  thou  promised,  did  betray 
To  death  the  victim  of  thy  perfidy. 
And  thou,  O  World  !  in  thy  cold  selfishness, 
Witnessed  the  victim  fall,  yet  to  distress, 
Borne  e'en  that  thou  might'st  greater  riches  know, 
Brought  not  relief,  nay,  dealt  the  final  blow 
Which  all  of  genius  death  hath  power  to  bind, 
To  the  dark  precincts  of  the  tomb  confined. 

Is  it  for  this  the  Muse  her  riches  gives  ; 

Is  it  for  this  that  patient  Genius  strives 

Earth's  unseen  things  of  beauty  to  reveal 

From  secret  places  gleaned  with  tireless  zeal, — 

To  live  the  drudge  of  penury  and  care  ; 

The  dupe  of  hope  ;  the  victim  of  despair  ; 

The  world's  cold  incredulity  to  brave  ; 

To  sink  forgotten  to  a  timeless  grave, 

That  those  may  share  a  wealth  which  else  must  lie 

Buried  in  Nature's  sealed  infinity, 

Who  while  they  scruple  not  the  fruits  t'  enjoy, 

Ungrateful  coldly  pass  the  laborer  by. 

May  shame  o'erwhelm  thee,  Selfishness  !  when  on 
The  tomb  that  holds  the  dust  of  Chatterton 
Thou   look'st.      Thou    Pride,    should'st   thou  per 
chance  there  too 

Resort,  may'st  thou  remorseful  sorrow  know, 
While  humbled  ye  within  your  hearts  confess, 
Else  dumb,  how  less  ye  are  than  littleness  ! 


SEA  PICTURES. 

One  summer's  day,  beside  the  murmuring  sea, 
Stretched  on  the  beach,  I  slept,  and  dreamed  I  saw 
A  noble  ship,  which,  out  upon  the  deep, 
Moved  proudly  o'er  the  waters  toward  the  east. 
Calm  as  a  mountain  lake  the  ocean  lay 
Beneath  the  brightness  of  a  noon-day  sun, 
Yet  did  it  seem  as  if  the  sultry  air 
Of  summer's  heated  breath  upon  its  breast 
Oppressive  lay,  and  in  its  mighty  heart, 
Deep  down,  disturbed  its  slumbering  forces — stirred 
To  restless  throbbings,  as  its  bosom  swelled 
In  slow  pulsation,  and  then  sank  away 
In  strange  disquietude.     Encircling,  arched 
Sublimely  o'er  the  azure  vault  of  heaven, 
Upon  whose  royal  height  enthroned  sat 
The  god  of  day,  in  dazzling  glory  robed. 
O'er  the  still  depths  the  ship  majestic  moved, 
As  sportively  she  scattered  with  her  prow, 
About  her  path, — all  glittering  in  the  sun, 
Unnumbered  brilliants  of  unnumbered  hues, 
Which  she  did  gather  from  the  emerald  deep, 
While  from  her  rolled  upon  the  drowsy  air 
(65) 


66  SEA  PICTURES. 

A  long,  dark  line  of  fume,  which  sought  the  haze 

Of  roseate  tint,  far  in  the  glimmering  distance. 

Upon  her  decks  the  "toilers  of  the  sea," 

Sun-browned  in  service,  each  his  duty  sought, 

While  in  the  rigging  some  the  useless  sail 

With  busy  fingers  folded  to  the  yards, 

All  merry-hearted  singing  as  they  wrought. 

Beneath  an  awning  shading  from  the  sun 

Reclined  the  ocean  voyagers,  and  there 

Upon  the  air  all  merrily  arose 

The  careless  laugh,  the  voice  of  happiness, 

And  busy  tongues  of  little  ones  at  play. 

Beauty  and  Youth  with  faces  bright,  illumed 

With  love  and  hope,  and  Age  with  its  sweet  smile, 

In  happiest  intercourse  assembled  were. 

Others  apart  from  those  thus  grouped  about 

Sought  to  beguile  in  quicker  pace  away, 

The  lingering  hours  of  the  hot  summer's  day 

With  tales  of  Fancy's  painting;  some  o'ercome 

By  its  soporous  breath  in  slumber  lay, 

While  here  and  there  one  o'er  the  bulwarks  leaned 

In  listless  dreamings,  gazing  o'er  the  wave. 

Aside  were  two:  one  Beauty's  prototype 

Set  in  a  frame  of  fairest  loveliness; 

The  other  Beauty's  proud  defender — Youth 

From  Nature's  sturdier,  bolder  model,  man. 

As  silvery  clouds  in  fleecy  softness  veil 

The  chasteness  of  the  virgin  summer  moon, 


SEA   PICTURES.  6/ 

Here  white  attire,  in  sweet  abandon,  draped 

Her  lovely  form — in  nameless  grace  composed, 

As  she,  reclined  beside  him  whom  she  loved, 

Gave  ear  attent,  as  he  read  to  her  thought; 

Read  of  some  sorrow,  as  expression  told, 

Moulding  her  face  to  sweet  solicitude — 

Of  holy  sympathy,  throned  in  the  heart, 

The  superscription.     So  her  lustrous  eyes, — 

Liquidly  brilliant  as  the  glist'ning  dew 

Upon  the  new-blown,  trembling  violet, — - 

Pearled  in  warm  tears,  did  each  emotion  glass, 

Which  that  sad  tale  awoke  within  her  heart 

But  this  was  passed,  and  like  the  sun's  fresh  glow 

Of  heat  and  light  when  April  showers  are  o'er, 

With  a  soft  brightness   beamed   her   tear-damped 

eyes, 

Resting  on  him  who,  ceased,  in  their  sweet  depths 
Poured  from  his  own  love's  warm  responsive  rays. 
»-*;•»;• 

The  scene  was  changed:  upon  a  rock-bound  coast 

I  stood;  darkness  had  gathered  over  all. 

'Gainst  the  dark  sea  high  loomed  the  walling  cliffs 

Amid  the  starlit  air,  their  towering  fronts 

Stern  frowning,  om'nous,  warders  of  the  deep, 

Robed  in  the  sombre  livery  of  Night. 

About  their  caverned  base  lamentingly 

The  troubled  waters  tossed,  'neath  the  weird  wind, 

Which  to  the  night  distressfully  complained, 


68  SEA   PICTURES. 

In  wild  and  fitful  voice.     Higher  it  rose 

And  'neath  it  soon  high  swelled  and  fiercely  lashed 

The  surge  in  angry  clamor  'gainst  the  cliffs, 

While  black  impenetrable  clouds  rolled  o'er, 

Piled  mass  on  mass,  high  'mid  the  thickening  air, 

And  quickly  curtained  with  their  darkened  folds 

The  ebon  vault  of  heaven,  an  hour  before 

Whence  countless  stars  looked  down  upon  the  sea. 

Far  distant,  from  its  cloud-built  battlement, 

Rending  night's  pall,  the  wakened  lightning  pierced 

With  gleaming  shaft  the  bosom  of  the  deep! 

Responsive  to  the  Storm-king's  awful  voice, 

Deep-swelling  from  afar;  then  opened  fast 

The  many  portals  of  the  walling  clouds, 

Piled  up  the  vaulted  height,  to  passage  give 

The  spirits  of  the  tempest.     Issuing  forth, 

They,  riding  on  the  winds,  did  fiercely  urge 

The  elements  to  strife,  most  clamorous 

Where  liglitning-led  they  ranged  the  watery  waste, 

Which,  thus  illumined,  its  waves  dark,  serpentine, 

Revealed,  high  surging  in  encounter  wild, 

Like  huge  leviathans  in  fury  met 

Fiercely  contending.     Now  above  the  roar 

Of  the  loud  sea  the  deepening  thunder  rose — 

And  died  away  upon  the  wind.     Anon 

From  the  dark  zenith  of  the  firmament, 

In  louder  voice  its  angry  mutterings  broke, 

And  rolling  downward  burst  into  a  crash! 

Then  every  cloud,  in  emulation  fierce, 


SEA   PICTURES.  69 

Thundered  reply,  rending  the  trembling  air, 
As  through  the  ambient  darkness,  inky  grown, 
Each  gave  defiant  challenge  to  the  night, 
And  hushed  the  mighty  roaring  of  the  sea. 
Flaming,  the  lightnings,  red-tongued,  lick  the  waves, 
Which  heavenward  madly  reared    their    mammoth 

forms, 

Till,  by  the  tempest  struck,  back  hurled  they  plunged 
With  roars  defiant  to  their  surging  depths. 
Out  on  the  sea,  lit  by  the  lightnings'  glare, 
Flash  ibllowing  flash  in  wild  velocity, 
A  ship  swept  on  before  the  tempest's  strength, 
Rose  with  the  maddened  waves,  sank  as  they  sank, 
Then  in  the  hadean  darkness  disappeared. 


The  fulmines  of  the  storm  were  spent,  though  still 
The  forces  of  the  winds  swept  to  the  cliffs, 
Resistless  in  their  might,  hurling  the  waves, 
To  fury  lashed,  'gainst  their  black  adamant, 
As  if  back  summoned  to  their  cavern  strengths, 
Rebellious  they  in  fierce  resentment  raged. 
The  broken  clouds  now  hurried  o'er  the  sky, 
And  laid  their  shattered  masses  'neath  the  arch 
Which  marks  the  southern  limits  of  the  heavens, 
Their  serrate  summits  by  the  moon  illumed, 
Which  now  released,  in  mellow  brilliancy 
Flooded  the  waves,  to  very  mountains  grown. 


70  SEA   PICTURES. 

There,  laboring  o'er  their  heights,  the  doomed  ship 
Rose,  ma-stless,  tottered  on  their  giant  crests, 
Then  headlong  plunged  to  their  abyssmal  depths, 
But  rose  not  up  again. — The  waves  rolled  o'er 
Inexorable  — 

***** 

From  my  sleep  I  woke; 
Still  murmuring,  in  the  sunset  lay  the  sea. 


T 


QUAND    MEME. 


Once   more  by  the  old   window  with   the   fragrant 

eglantine, 
As  of  old  its  sweetness  breathing, — now  o'ergrown 

with  columbine, 
Three  years  this  June  we  parted  at  this  very  sunset 

time: 
I  scarce  can  realize  that  since  I've  been  in  many  a 

clime, 
So  natural  the  dear  old  scene,  for  though  the  years 

since  gone 
Have  shown  me  many  beauteous  scenes  this  held  my 

heart  alone. 
And  that's  the  old-time   abenlied,  so   loved,  which 

now  you  play, 
Whose  voice,  like  some  sweet  spirit,  through  the  past 

has  followed  me 
In  all  my  wanderings,  and  when  most  alone  't  was 

sure  to  come, 
And  fill  me  with  the  deep  longings  for  the  then  far 

distant  home. 
Its   sad,   sweet   strain  recalls    to    me  the    chant  of 

vesper  bells 

(70 


72  QUAND    MEME. 

Once   heard   upon   the   stillness   from   a   cloister's 

wooded  hills, 
As  close  along  the  Spanish  coast  one  summer's  eve 

we  bore, 

When  all  was  silent  save  the  waves  upon  the  neigh 
boring  shore. 
Now  heard  once  more,  here  at  your  side,  its  ne'er 

forgotten  strain 
Awakes  sweet  recollections,  intermingling  joy  and 

pain — 

Throbbings  of  joy  that  sweetly  thrill,  by  busy  Mem 
ory  brought, 
Then  sadly  tremble  into  rest   struck  by  the  chill  of 

thought, 
As  fast  on  recollection  comes  each  well  remembered 

scene, 
Which  now — sweet  picture  of  the  past! — but  show 

what  might  have  been; 
And   these  alone  remain  to   me   of  all  that  happy 

time, 
In  the  heart's  darkened  chamber  hung,  draped  in 

memoriam. 
There  might  have  been  no  shadows, — if  love  may 

dare  surmise 
From  the  old  light  which  timidly  has  crept  into  your 

eyes; 
The  same  that  kindled  in  my  heart  the  flame  love 

may  inspire, 


QUAND    MEME.  73 

Which,  like  watch-lamps  in  holy  fanes,  proves  but 

memorial  fire, 
Ere  since,  when  blinder  than  our  hearts,  we  parted 

hastily 
In  wounded  pride,  and  I  became  a  wanderer  on  the 

sea. 
You  surely  loved  me,  May,  but  then,  ere  wealth  was 

mine — the  prize 
I  sought    to    gain    the   greater, — you    feared    the 

sacrifice, 
For  you  could  not  renounce  for  me  what  I  could 

not  supply: 
That  luxury  which  you  enjoyed  and  could  not  well 

deny 
Yourself.     For  this  I  question   not:  man    has   no 

right  to  ask 
Such  sacrifice;  we  men  who  make  of  love  too  oft  a 

mask, 
And  though  now  fortune  has  removed  that  barrier 

aside, 
What  matters  it,  since  I  have  lost  the  only  wealtn  I 

pride. 

Your  faithful  heart  remembers  still  for  though  you 

answer  not, 
That  tear  now  trembling  on  your  cheek  shows  that 

the  springs  of  thought 
Have  been  disturbed  by  memory,  and  thus  o'erflow- 

ing  rise, — 


74  QUAND    MEME. 

And  what  a  lovely  channel  have  they  chosen  in  your 

eyes. 
But  take  my  arm  and  let  us  stroll  along  the  old-time 

way, 
This  will  be  the  last  meeting  we  may  know  for  many 

a  day, 
For  I  go  from  here   to-m3rrow,  I  can  scarcely  tell 

you  where, 
I  do  not  know  which  way  myself,  in  truth  I  little 

care 
But  I  dare  not  trust  my  heart  to  see  another  hold 

its  shrine, 
Which  love,  denying  every  claim,  e'en  now  would 

not  resign. 

It  was  beside  this  gate  I  stood,  three  summers  now 

ago, 
And  heard  you  play  that  melody,  which  since  I've 

cherished  so, — 
The  day  I  met  you — then  my  love  woke  to  its  sweet 

refrain, 
And  its  harmony  with  silver  chords  wove  round  my 

heart  a  chain, 
Which  though  'tis  rent  asunder   recollection   now 

displays 
Its  scattered  links,  which  still  reflect  the  scenes  of 

happier  days; 
And  with  it  came  an  in.age,  then  enshrined  within 

my  heart, 


QUAND    MEME.  75 

Where  it  must  ever  rest  undimmed  till  life  therefrom 

depart. 
But,  May,  farewell;  I'll  leave  you  now,  we've  parted 

often  here, 
And   this   will   make   it   easier   for   both  of  us  to 

bear — 
Or  shall  I  see  you  to  the  porch?— it  may  be  wiser 

so, 
For  your  hand  is  trembling, — though  perhaps  't  is 

better  finished  now, 
And  so  good-bye;  the  agony  which  now  my  heart 

endures, 
I  trust  in  all  the  after  years  may   never  once  be 

yours. 


How  like  lone,  sorrowing  spirits,  sigh  the  trees  that 

shade  the  dead, 
Here  in  the   quaint   old  church-yard,  in  summer's 

last  tints  clad, 
Where — five  years  passed,  once  more  returned,  I 

look  out  on  the  sea, 
From  the  cedared  hill- side  where  she  sleeps  who 

was  so  dear  to  me. 
The  waves  break  sadly  as  I've  heard  them  break  in 

many  a  clime — 
Like  memories  which  unceasing  fall  along  the  shores 

of  time, 


/6  QUAND   MiSME. 

And  the  droning  bee  hums   idly  by  in  the  sultry 

August  noon, 
Lingering  to  sip  from  weary  flowers  which  'neath 

the  still  heat  swoon. 

White-winged  a  solitary  ship  far  out  upon  the  sea, 
Reflects  the  noon- day   sunlight,  soon  o'erclouded, 

and  to  me 
This  seems  a   fitting  image  of  the  lot  I  bear  this 

day: 
Alone  on  life's  broad  ocean,  and  the  sunlight  passed 

away, 
And  o'er  its  havenless  expanse  my  bark  of  life  must 

bear, 
O'ershadowed  by  thc.^e  memories  which  must  ever 

darken  there. 

Thus  hope's  delusive  star  how  oft  in  sorrow's  night 

declines, 
And  to  dark  disappointment's  shades  our  happiness 

consigns; 
Yet  can  the  image  which  a\voke  that  hope  ne'er  fade 

away — 
Embalmed  in  the  heart's  sepulchre,  from  "  feeling's 

dull  decay." 


SONNETS. 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  79 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE. 


The  deep  blue  firmament  begemmed  with  light 
Bending  o'er  earth,  like  love  o'er  slumbering  love; 
The  spirit  Peace,  descending  from  above, 
Hushing  all  things  to  silence  as  the  night 
Comes  solemnly.     Still  as  in  gentlest  flight 
The  breath   of  unseen  wings,  soft  zephyrs  stray 
Among  the  sleeping  flowers,  and  steal  away 
Their  hearts'  perfumes.     Amid  the  sparkling  height 
The  beetle  drones,  or  falls  the  night-bird's  cry 
While  insect  bands  their  minim  notes  attune 
On  every  side — 

Anon  the  orient  sky 

Dissolves  in  light  as  the  round,  silver  moon 
Sails  up  the  blue  in  queenly  majesty, 
The  crowning  glory  of  a  night  in  June. 


80  INRI. 


INRI'. 


When  on  the  cross  hung  man's  high  sacrifice, 
Death  near  approached  his  work  to  execute, 
Awe-struck  recoiled,  in  fear  irresolute 

His  office  on  his  King  to  exercise. 

Then  bowing  to  his  breast  his  head,  the  Christ 
Made  sign  to  the  Implacable,  that  he, 
Without  regard  to  right  of  sovereignty, 

Should  claim  the  sacrifice  at  which  was  priced 

Man's  sin.     Then  did  th'  Inexorable  strike — 
The  fearful  Sun  to  darkness  paling  fled; 
Earth  trembling  shrank  to  night's  embrace,  the 
dead 

E'en  by  that  deed  of  their  dread  prince  made  quick 

Did  him  defy — he  had  forever  spent 

His  power  in  striking  the  Omnipotent! 


*From  the  French  of  an  unknown  author  of  the  seventeenth  century;  con 
tained  in  a  little  poem  entitled  "La  Mort  du  Christ,"  which  was  found  in 
scribed  upon  the  principal  gate  of  the  cemetery  which  formerly  surrounded 
the  Church  of  Sainte  Trinite,  in  Cherbourg. 


MUSIC. 


MUSIC. 


Come,  sacred  Muse,  naught  like  thy  strains  compose 
The  longing  heart,  nor  there  can  charm  to  rest 

Its  discontent,  yet  oh,  what  peace  it  knows 

When  by  thy  entrancing  presence  't  is  possessed! 

E'en  as  a  bird  at  the  first  dawn  of  day 

Sought  by  its  mate,  joins  it  and  soars  away 

Through  sun-flushed  fields  of  azure,  circling  round 

To  some  bright  glade  where  cherished  fruits  abound, 

My  soul  solicitous,  at  thy  behest, 

To  thy  loved  realm  enraptured  wings  its  flight, 
Led  on  by  thee  there  lingering  with  delight; 

Soaring  aloft— or  cradled  into  rest. 

All  other  joys  the  passions  but  control, 

'T  is  thou  alone  hath  power  to  reach  the  soul! 


82  TO-MORROW. 


TO-MORROW. 


Farewell  till  flowers  return.     Ah,  could  we  know 
The  darkness  of  that  said  fore'er  't  would  seem 
Thus  marked  but  as  the  shadow  of  a  dream; 
A  transitory  cloud  destined  to  show 
How  full  the  light  beyond.     Lo  now,  though  far 
To  love,  Time's  darkened  corridors  between 
Its  brightness  falls,  as  though  some  dark  aisle  seen 
The  light  of  day,  and  thitherto  Hope's  star 
Shall  guide  the  steps  of  Faith.     So  e'en  with  joy 
May  we  regard  such  shadows  which  Time's  flight 
Resolves  to  pillars  of  enduring  light, 
Traced  with  sweet  memories  of  fond  constancy, 
Which  ever  in  the  after  years  shall  prove 
The  dearest  of  all  records  dear  to  love! 


SOLITUDE.  83 


SOLITUDE. 


Oh,  I  do  love  to  wander  by  the  shore 

And  watch  the  restless  waters  of  the  deep, 
As  the  night  winds  across  its  bosom  sweep, 

Blending  their  strange  complainings  with  its  roar! 

I  love  to  wander  through  the  shadowy  wood 

As,  phantom-like,  the  soft  moonlight  there  creeps, 
Where,  'neath  the   sentrying  stars,  tired   Nature 
sleeps 

And  Silence  sits  enthroned  in  Solitude! 

Such  scenes  a  deep,  mysterious  pleasure  bear, 
And  wake  a  prescient  spirit  in  the  breast, 
Timid  of  day,  which  from  a  vague  unrest 

Finds  glad  relief  raptly  communing  there 

With  spirit  voices  from  far  spheres  which  tell 

Of  distant  worlds,  to  sense  invisible! 


MEDITATION. 


MEDITATION. 


In  that  still  hour  when  the  declining  day 
Along  the  sky  fades  tranquilly  away, 

When  o'er  the  earth  the  glimmering  twilight  creeps, 
All  voices  hushing  as  dear  Nature  sleeps, 

In  solitude,  naught  save  the  symphony 

Of  ocean  heard,  I  love  to  seek  thy  charms, 
Where  naught  ignoble  the  glad  soul  alarms, 

As  rapturously  it  yields  itself  to  thee. 

Silent  thou  art,  thy  silence  eloquence, 
Raising  the  soul  to  its  inherent  life, 

Which,  casting  off  its  mortal  instruments, 

Soars  far  beyond  earth's  narrow  scene  of  strife, 

And,  led  by  thee,  views  that  immortal  state 

In  which  it  too  shall  soon  participate! 


VENICE.  85 


VENICE. 


How  doth  thy  name  conjure  th'  historic  past, 
Queen  of  the  Isles;  once  of  the  East  supreme! 
How  to  thy  courts  the  proudest  Nations  came 

And  at  thy  feet  their  richest  tribute  cast. 

Most  valiant  then  thy  sons,  and  thy  domains 
Far-reaching  as  the  waves  thy  galleons  cleft; 
Then  Venice  VictrixJ  Now  apart,  bereft; 

Of  all  thy  greatness  but  a  name  remains! 

Thy  galleons  gone — thy  banners  sadly  furled; 
Still,  bride  of  Ocean,  though  as  queen  discrowned, 
'Neath  bluest  heavens,   'mid   beryl  seas   thou'rt 
throned, 

Unique  among  the  marvels  of  the  world! 
Thy  glory  marked,  forever  now  resigned, 
Tears  dim  the  eyes  and  wonder  fills  the  rnind. 


STANZAS. 


LOVE  AND   DIGNITY.  89 


LOVE  AND  DIGNITY. 


It  was  June;  in  a  vale,  as  the  day  was  declining, 
Near   a   lakelet    rose-hued  by  the   soft,   waning 

light, 

Stately  Dignity  walked,  in  the  silence  resigning 
His  thought  to  those  scenes  which  most  gladdened 
his  sight. 


Not   far   had    he    gone   when    he    heard    a    deep 
sighing 

Which  came  from  a  cluster  of  roses  near  by, 
And  great  his  surprise  when  among  them  espying 

The  little  god  Cupid, — who'd  uttered  the  sigh. 

On  his  arm  he  reclined,  with  a  rose  in  his  fingers, 
From  which  he  was  plucking  its  petals  away, 

And  as  a  bright  star  on  a  cloud's  summit  lingers, 
A  tremulous  tear  on  his  dark  lashes  lay. 


go  LOVE   AND   DIGNITY. 

"And   what   has   disturbed   you?"    asked    Dignity, 
kindly. 

Cupid  started,  and  fluttered  his  wings  in  dismay, 
But  feared,  in  the  presence  he  found  himself,  blindly 

To  follow  his  feelings  and  scamper  away. 


He  made  no  reply;  simply  pointed  before  him 
Where  an  arrow  lay  broken, — the  source  of  his 

woe, 
As  he  bit  those  sweet  lips  for  which  mankind  adore 

him, 
And  patted  his  bare  little  leg  with  his  bow! 

"  Indeed,  and  is  that  it?     Just  as  I  expected; 

*T  would  seem  you've  not  done  as  instructed  " — 

"Tis  true,"— 

"  Precisely,  now  had  you  done  as  I  directed  " — 
"You  would  say  I'd  not  had  this  misfortune  to 
rue." 

"This  once,"  Love  continued,  "good  Dignity  spare 

me," 

Looking  up  in  his  face  with  a  coy,  suasive  smile, 
"And  come  here  to-morrow  at  this  hour,  and  hear  me 
Recount  my  success   with  proud  Beauty  mean 
while." 


LOVE  AND  DIGNITY.  91 

"  Most  gladly  I  will,  so  good-night,  but  remember!" 
"  Never  fear,"  Love  replied,  with  glance  roguishly 

bright, 
Then  with  wings  rustling  softly,  as  leaves  'neath  a 

zephyr, 
He  rose  on  a  sunbeam  and  passed  out  of  sight. 


Next  eve  to  the  vale,  ere  the  sun  had  ceased  shining, 
Came   Dignity,— 't   was  one   he  long  had  loved 
best,— 

And  there,  on  a  bed  of  rich  blossoms  reclining, 
He  beheld  Beauty  fondling  a  rose  at  her  breast. 

Quick,  with  rapturing  pulsation,  his  heart  beat,  but 

hearing 
A  sound  as  of  Love's  half-suppressed  voice  near 

by, 

He  concealed  his  emotion,  then  to  her  appearing, 
He   approached,  as   upon   him  she   smiled  gra 
ciously. 

Love  had  led  her  hither,  and  now  near  her  hiding, 
'Mid  the  blossom-flaked  foliage,  as  Dignity  came 

He  sped  a  bright  arrow,  fire-tipped,  which  dividing 
His  heart,  kindled  there  its  wild,  exquisite  flame! 


92  LOVE  AND   DIGNITY. 

Thus  struck,  before  Beauty  he  fell,  to  her  pleaded 
To  draw  from  his  bosom  the  still  flaming  dart; 

She,  while  soothing  the  wound,  saw  but  Love  e'er 

could  heal  it, 
The  arrow  was  buried  so  deep  in  his  heart! 


Then  in  flight  Cupid  cried,  "  Dignity,  I  regret  to 
Have  missed  you,  as  now  I've  no  time  to  wait,  for 

My  quiver  is  empty.     I  did  not  forget  you, 
You  see.     Now  I'm  off  for  a  few  arrows  more!" 


Soon   though    passed    out    of  sight,   in  soft,   dulcet 

numbers 

His  voice  lingered  still,  urging  his  sweet  decree, 
While  the  flowers  his  warm  wings  had  kissed  from 

their  slumbers, 

On   the    lingering    sunbeams    shed   their   sweets 
wantonly ! 

Soon  't  was  clear  from  the  manner  of  Beauty  in 

pressing 

Her  hand  'gainst  her  heart,  quickly  palpitating, 
Love  had  there  sent  an  arrow, — the  rogue   when 

professing 

His  quiver   unstocked,  had  his  darts  'neath  his 
wing. 


THE  GLADIATOR.  93 


THE  GLADIATOR. 


The  following  lines  are  a  free  translation  from  the  French  of 
Chenedolle  (1769-1833),  and  are  presented  as  of  interest 
by  reason  of  being  substantially  identical,  as  will  at  once 
be  observed,  with  those  so  universally  known  and  justly  ad. 
mired  of  Lord  Byron  on  the  same  subject,  occurring  in 
"Childe  Harold."  Unfortunately  for  his  French  contem 
porary,  it  has  been  incontestibly  established  that  "our 
author  "  spoke  first  by  two  years. 


Spurned,  bleeding;  victim  of  a  barbarous  lust — 
Imperial  Rome's!  the  gladiator  falls 
On  the  arena  homicidal,  there 

In  calm  repose  yielding  himself  to  death. 

Low  drooped  upon  his  arm,  within  his  heart 
He  concentrates  his  residue  of  strength; 
Consents  to  death,  yet  conquers  agony* 

While  dauntless  still  he  braves  the  Roman  foe. 

*"I1  consent  a  la  mort,  clomptant  I'agonle." 


94  THE   GLADIATOR. 

Fast  fails  his  strength,  and  lower  sinks  his  head; 
He  feels  his  life  depart.  The  drops  of  blood 
Which  he  beholds  calmly  and  fearless  fall, 

From  his  torn  side  more  slowly  now  descend. 

Far  from  this  scene  of  horror  are  his  thoughts, 
To  his  loved  home  alone  they  fondly  turn, 
Where  'neath  his  roof,  beside  the  Danube's  shore 

Affection  sees  his  darling  infant  ones. 

Them  by  their  mother's  knee  he  there  beholds, 

While  in  a  spectacle  inhuman  he 

Expiring  lies,  before  an  alien  race, 
Butchered  to  amuse  the  Roman  populace! 

Now  o'er  his  face  death's  pallid  hue  is  spread; 
He  dies,  yet  ne'er  surrendering  once  to  fear, 
While  with  disdain  the  shouts  prolonged  he  hears 

That  hail  the  victor — guilty  of  his  blood! 

Oh,  bloody  deed! — dare  man  thus  outrage  man? 

Rise  ye,  ye  fierce  barbarians  of  the  north! 

Speed  to  revenge  your  sons'  ignoble  death; 
Quick,  lest  Rome  still  finds  pleasure  in  your  blood! 


HIS  REPLY.  95 


HIS  REPLY 

TO    "HER    LETTER.' 


I  was  resting  beneath  the  old  pine  tree, 
But  an  hour  from  the  mines — tired  out — 
Alone — worse  than  that,  which  is  lonely, 
Thinking  how  strangely  things  come  about, 
When  your  letter — your  womanly  letter 
Was  placed  in  my  hand — need  I  say 
That  its  face  (for  I  knew  'twas  from  you,  dear), 
Smiled  away  the  fatigue  of  the  day. 

You  may  guess  how  I  read  and  reread  it 

And  dwelt  on  each  word:  well  I  knew 

Ere  'twas  opened  no  words  but  those  truest 

Would  be  found  in  a  letter  from  you — 

And  reading  you  seemed  to  be  with  me 

Once  more  and  your  heart's  truth  divine, 

Which  e'er  beamed  in  your  eyes  when  beside  you, 

Shone  forth  in  your  words  line  by  line. 


96  HIS   REPLY. 

To  be  sure  'twas  amusing  to  see  you 
Write  so  freely  of  such  brilliant  scenes — 
Of  Beaux — and  in  sooth  a  proposal 
From  a  youngster  just  out  of  his  teens — 
All  of  which  pleased  me  more  than  you  fancy, 
— The  dances,  soirees,  and  all  that — 
That  is,  since  "  the  belle  of  the  season  " 
From  it  all  turned  to  "Poverty  flat." 


Then  the  drive  in  the  park,  in  a  turnout 

Like  that  of  a  princess  in  state — 

Yet  you  still  think  our  drive  was  "  the  rarest  " 

From  old  Harrison's  barn  to  the  gate? 

Well,  you're  not  very  wrong — and  I'm  thinking 

That  in  ''rarest"  you  have  the  right  word 

For  the  reason — if  rightly  I  guess  it, 

That  our  hearts  were  in  rarest  accord. 


Yes,  our  happiness  here  was  complete,  Su', 
Or  seemed  so,  and  that's  all  the  same, 
Till  the  metal  was  struck  in  the  placer, 
And  the  gold  fairly  rolled  from  the  claim; 
Then  of  course  there  was  nothing  to  keep  you 
Out  here  in  the  mud  at  the  "  Fork," 
So  the  grocery  was  sold  and  the  "  diggin's  " 
Were  exchanged  for  the  scenes  of  New- York. 


HIS   REPLY.  97 

Two  years  since  have  passed — all  continues 

Pretty  much  as  when  last  you  were  here — 

Some  have  "struck  it,"  but  most  are  still  striving 

With  little  to  eat  or  to  wear, 

Much  less  finding  gold,  or,  perhaps,  only 

Enough  to  give  prospect  of  more — 

But  most  have  but  little  to  hope  for, 

And  just  strive  to  keep  want  from  the  door. 

And  who,  do  you  ask,  are  the  finders; 

And  how  rich  are  the  new  paying  leads f 

Well  some  who  began  in  the  ditches 

And  some  who  began  at  the  feeds; 

And  some  of  our  five — you  remember 

From  Hampshire,  at  last  are  repaid; 

You  recall  how  three  years  past  they  came  here 

Recruits  for  "  the  digger  brigade!" 


There's  old  Dobson:  you  know  his  last  penny 
Was  gone  when  you  left — well,  they  say 
His  share  in  the  Davenport  placer 
Is  worth  twenty  thousand  to-day  — 
"  Clean  money?  "  O,  no — twenty  thousand 
Every  month  it  holds  out — you  may  guess 
How  the  girls  have  dropped  cotton  and  gingham 
And  taken  to  silks  for  their  dress. 


98  HIS    REPLY. 

And  then,  I  had  almost  forgotten  (?) 
Another  rich  strike  has  been  made 
Where  the  gold  merely  has  to  be  lifted 
Without  labor  of  pick  or  of  spade: 
Two  months  past  'twas  struck  up  the  mountains- 
Two  years  since  the  "  digger  "  began; 
The  result?  Some  few  thousands  to  credit, — 
Can't  you  guess  who's  the  fortunate  man? 


Do  you  know  him? — well,  let  me  remember — 
Why,  certain  you  do — don't  you  know 
"That  unlucky  digger"  named  Danvers — 
Joseph  Danvers — more  commonly  Joe? 
That's  me,  Su', — what,  don't  you  believe  it? 
No  wonder — I  didn't  myself 
Till  I  knew  the  North  Bank  to  my  credit 
Held  a  round  fifty  thousand  of  pelf. 

Yes,  fifty  and  further  take  notice 

That  I've  sold  out  the  claim  as  it  stands 

For  five  hundred  thousand  gold,  minted, 

And  the  checks  have  passed  under  my  hands — 

Ah,  my  Beauty,  how  little  you  fancied 

In  the  midst  of  your  fashion  and  glare 

That  the  man  whom  you  loved  as  a  "  digger  " 

Was  that  unlucky  Joe — millionaire! 


HIS   REPLY.  99 

What  next? 

— In  two  weeks  I  reach  Denver, 
And  forever  good-bye  to  "  the  Fork:" 
And  thence  fast  as  wheels  can  whirl  eastward 
I'll  be  with  you,  dear,  in  New  York, 
And  then  we'll  be  finished  by  travel 
And  learn  what  it  means,  and  all  that, 
And  our  joy  shall  be  none  the  less  telling 
For  the  memories  of  "  Poverty  flat." 

So  good  night  and  good-bye  for  a  little, 

Altho'  you're  asleep  as  I  write, 

For  ten  on  this  slope,  if  I  err  not, 

In  your  quarter  is  three  in  the  night — 

Yet  once  more  good  night  and  be  happy 

Henceforth  and  forever  and  know 

There  is  one  who  will  strive  so  to  make  you, 

Joseph  Danvers— more  commonly 

JOE. 


100  THE   EARLY   BIRD. 


THE  EARLY  WORM, 

OF  UNHAPPY    MEMORY. 


I. 

Oft  hath  been  told  the  ancient  tale 

Yclept  "  the  early  bird," 
But  with  great  naughtiness  the  truth 

Hath  been  but  half  averred. 

II. 

Once  on  a  time  a  little  worm, — 
Thus  should  the  story  run, — 

Arose  with  unsuspecting  trust 
To  greet  the  rising  sun. 

III. 

Forth  from  his  snug  retreat  he  set 
Hard  by  a  moss-grown  wood; 

And  whistled  gaily  as  he  went — 
Or  would  have  if  he  could. 


THE   EARLY   KIRD,' 


IV. 

He  gained  the  mead  and  soon  upon 

A  hollow  log  he  gat, 
Which  well  he  knew  for  oft  thereon 

In  the  warm  sun  he  sat 

V. 

And  slept,  curled  in  a  little  ball, 

For  be  it  known  that  he 
Was  not  a  common  worm,  but  of 

The  old  Grub  family. 

VI. 

Full  pleased  was  he  with  his  own  self 

And  as  the  sun  arose, 
He  felt  like  juveniles  who  feel 

Too  big  for  their  small  clo"es. 

VII. 

But  soon  into  his  ear  there  crept 
A  bird's  sweet  minstrelsy, 

Which  pleased  him  so  that  he  fell  to 
And  danced  right  merrily. 

VIII. 

Alack  the  day!     The  warbler  spied 

The  all  too  giddy  mite, 
And  while  he  loved  to  trill  full  well 

A  worm  was  his  delight! 


THE   EARLY   BIRD. 

IX. 

He  dropped  his  song,  the  better  on 
His  helpless  prey  to  drop; 

Then,  though  his  victim  strove  to  fly, 
He  popped  him  in  his  crop! 

X. 

Thus  it  befell;  that  hapless  worm, 
So  good,  so  prompt  at  morn 

Was  by  his  very  virtues  thus 
From  life  and  pleasure  torn. 

XI. 

Yet  but  himself  to  blame,  for  if 

He  had  but  kept  his  bed 
To  rise  betimes,  some  other  worm 

Would  have  been  swallow-*?^// 


NIGHT.  103 


NIGHT. 

Thou  orb  sublime  that  from  the  boundless  sky 
Night's  darkening  curtain  now  dost  upward   roll  ! 

And  flood'st  the  world  in  balmful  brilliancy 

That  steals  like  dream-hushed  music  on  the  soul, 

From  this  still  height,  amid  the  breathless  grove, 
Whereon  thou  dost  thy  first  soft  brightness  shed, 

I  watch  thee  rise  with  an  adoring  love, 
Thou  queen  of  light  in  majesty  arrayed! 

Above  yon  looming  cliff,  whose  sombre  height, 
Black  'gainst  the  sky,  o'erlooksthe  slumbering  sea, 

Thou  soar'st  aloft,  dissolving  into  light 
The  waters,  cradled  to  tranquility. 

Mounting  on  high  now  doth  thy  radiance  fill 
The  earth  and  sea — most  welcome  on  the  deep 

Where  thy  bright  beams  with  hope  all  wanderers 

thrill 
Who  in  the  night  across  the  ocean  sweep. 


104  NIGHT. 

Yonder  the  distant  city  sleeps,  revealed  by  thee, 
As  thou  dost  silver  dome  and  spire  there: 

Whence  now,  scarce  heard  above  the  murmuring  sea. 
The  midnight  bell  steals  o'er  the  slumbering  air. 

As  thy  full  beams  disperse  night's  gathered  gloom 
'Mid  its  dark  scenes,  what  haunts  of  misery  there; 

What  drear  abodes  of  anguish  they  illume, 
Sunk  in  the  rayless  midnight  of  despair! 


What  thoughts  disturb  the  lonely  convict's  heart 
As  now  he  views  thee  from  his  ironed  cell, 

Of  childhood's  days;  of  cherished  hopes  depart, 
Which  he  remembers — ah,  too  sadly  well. 

He  feels  thy  beams,  as  now  his  night  they  invade, 
Rest  on  a  scene  which  memory  weeps  to  trace: 

A  grave  amid  the  village  church-yard's  shade, 
Of  her  who  sank  beneath  a  child's  disgrace. 

Thus,  what  diversity  of  scene  untold 

Dost  thou  behold;  what  mighty  empires  sway 

Hast  seen,  as  through  long  ages  thou  hast  rolled, 
As  now  thou  roll'st   unchanged — yet  where  are 
they? 


NIGHT.  105 

Where  now  is  haughty  Babylonia's  might 
Which  madly  dared  Omnipotence  deride? 
For  thou  hast  too  illumed  her  guilty  site 
As  now  the  plain  which  sepulchres  her  pride! 

So  shall  thy  beams,  before  another  sun, 
Look  on  the  walls  of  crumbling  Pompeii, 
And  from  the  heights  of  silent  Lebanon 
Flood  the  still  waves  of  holy  Galilee. 


Infinite  theme!     Thou  God  all-powerful, 

Whose  hand  directs  e'en  as  Thy  hand  hath  made 

The  Universe  stupendous!  who  may  tell 

The  countless  wonders  of  Thy  work  displayed. 


106  UNKNOWN  SOLDIER. 


UNKNOWN  SOLDIER. 


Ye  patriot  dead!  o'er  your  sleep  of  devotion 

Beams  the  proud  star  of  victory,  all  gloriously 

bright! 

Here  by  the  dark  stream,  winding  down  to  the  ocean 
Which  beheld  you  go  forth  in  the  pride  of  your 
might. 

Full  its  radiance  illumines  the  shades  which  enfold 

you, 

Reflecting  your  glory — which  brightens  its  ray, — 
In  the  hearts  which  forever  with  pride  shall  behold 

you, 
Through  ages  to    come   as  through   years    passed 

away. 

And  can  it  then  be  that  "  unknown  "  ye  are  sleeping 
By  the  fields  of  your  valor,  so  fearlessly  trod  ? 

Can  a  Nation  forget  that  the  fruits  she  is  reaping 
Are  sprung  from  the  soil  warmed  to  life  by  thy 
blood  ? 


UNKNOWN   SOLDIER.  10? 

Ye  are  known  :  by  the  hearts  which — sorrow  e'er  at 
tending — 

Your  memory  embalm  in  love's  holiest  perfumes; 
By  the  tears  of  a  Nation  which  o'er  you  descending 
Refresh  the  sweet  flowers    that    wave  o'er  your 
tombs. 

Thus  not  here,  where  the  bleak  winds  in  rude  lamen 
tation 

Complainingly  wander  among  the  sad  pine, 
Are  you  tombed,  but  your  graves  the  warm  hearts  of 

a  Nation, 
Where  evergreen  blooming,  love's  memories  twine. 

No  more  shall  the  thunders  of  battle  elate  you  ; 

No  more  shall  the  trumpet  of  victory  thrill — 
Till  the  last  trumpet's  sound,  which  forever  shall 
wake  you, 

When  known  ye  shall  rise  to  the  life  immortal. 


108  ON   THE   SANDS. 


ON  THE  SANDS. 


A  proud  ship  northward  sailing, 
Across  a  shadowed  sea, — 
As  lonely  as  love  forbidden 
The  haven  where  it  would  be. 

On  the  sands  two  forms  are  lingering  ; 
'Gainst  the  rock  of  their  destiny, 
The  tides  of  their  hearts  are  swelling 
Like  the  waves  of  a  troubled  sea. 


For  a  gulf  has  been  fixed  between  them, 
By  the  changeless  decree  of  Fate  : 
After  long  years  of  waiting, 
Found — but,  alas,  too  late. 

Yet  ne'er  shall  those  tides  of  feeling 
Rest  till  each  heart  be  at  peace, 
As  not  till  Time's  consummation, 
Shall  the  tides  of  ocean  cease. 


ON  THE   SANDS. 

For  they  roll  from  Truth's  vast  ocean 
That  infinite,  changeless  sea, 
And  the  power  that  dkects  their  pulses 
Is  immutable  Deity. 

Oh  life!     O  fate!     O  sorrow! 
Must  love's  true  currents  flow 
Side  by  side,  like  companion  rivers 
That  never  a  mingling  know? 

Then  a  voice,  blent  with  ocean's,  answers 
Not  here  'neath  earth's  changeful  skies 
Can  love  be  made  perfect, — but  yonder 
In  the  field's  of  paradise. 


HO  TO  A  CANARY. 


TO  A  CANARY. 


Who  fashioned  thy  exquisite  symmetry, 
Thou  little  fay  of  song,  thou  paragon 

Of  grace;  what  wondrous  cunning  artisan 
The  texture  wove  of  thy  bright  livery  ? 

What  hand  the  delicate  machinery  cast 

Whereby  thou  mov'st  with  such  unerring  skill  ? 

Who  in  thy  tiny  frame  the  forces  placed, 
Which  make  it  all-obedient  to  thy  will  ? 

What  hast  thou  in  that  little  throat  of  thine 
To  trill  such  notes  of  dulcet  purity  ? 

Who  taught  thee  thus  in  minstrelsy  divine 
To  pour  thy  soul  in  rhythmic  ecstacy  ? 


Perchance  it  was  in  thine  own  native  shades, 
The  purling  brook,  the  voices  of  the  woods, 

Where  now  thy  fellows  in  bright  flow'ry  glades, 
Fill  with  sweet  song  their  island  solitudes. 


TO  A  CANARY.  Ill 

But  these  thou  ne'er  hast  known;  then  't  was  thy  sire 
Tuned  thy  sweet  voice  ?     Nay,  loud  thy  warblings 
tell, 

In  praises  rising  softly,  sweetly  higher, 

'Twas  nature's  God  that  fashioned  thee  so  well ! 

Would  I  could  tell  thee  how  I  love  thy  song; 

How  dear  to  me,  thou  lovely  one,  thou  art. 
Why  fly'st  thou  from  me  ?     I  but  fondly  long 

With  kindliest  hand  to  lay  thee  to  my  heart. 

How  happily  would'st  thou  lie  upon  this  breast, 
Did'st  thou  but  know  how  warms  my  heart  to  thee; 

Now,  captive  there,  in  thy  sweet  eyes'  unrest, 
Pained  I  behold  thou  fain  would'st  fly  from  me. 

Thou  can'st  not  understand  my  words,  I  know, 
But  love  hath  many  voices,  and  for  thee 

Nature  hath  surely  purposed  one,  and  so 
I  am  content,  for  Time  will  teach  it  me. 


112  MONA. 


MONA. 


How  can  I  paint  thy  beauties;  how  relate 

Thy  virtues  ?  words  to  compass  them  so  fail 
Thy  graces — e'en  the  cadence  of  thy  feet, 

Make  affluent  Speech  a  poverty  reveal, 
Language  too  poor  to  justly  celebrate 

The  temple  of  thy  form  ;  the  grace  to  tell 
Of  its  fair  priestess,  matchless  !     Sight  alone 

Can  know  how  perfect  Beauty's  paragon! 

It  may  not  be  that  peerless  music's  strain 

More  richly  sounds  since  I  have  known  thy  love ; 
It  may  not  be  fair  Dian  with  her  train 

Of  stars  refulgent,  in  her  course  above 
Now  brighter  beams;  yet  music's  loved  refrain 

Far  sweeter  is  ;  yon  orbs — all  things  now  prove 
Sources  of  joy  undreamt,  and  to  life  yield 

Rich  springs  of  sweetness  ne'er  before  revealed. 


MONA.  113 

E'en  as  the  sun  with  its  resplendent  light 

Doth  flood  the  world  in  nameless  radiancy; 
Raising  all  sunk  in  darkness  by  the  night 

To  share  the  glory  of  his  majesty, 
So  shall  thy  love  impart  a  new  delight 

To  every  joy,  and  life's  ambitions  be 
Exalted  to  a  nobler  aim,  and  yet — 

Nay,  thy  sweet  eyes  rebuke  that  though \.— forget! 

'Mid  their  soft  depths,  dark  as  the  star-filled  skies, 

As  'mid  the  night  heat's  silent  lightnings  play 
In  quivering  warmth,  love's  flames  reflected  rise 

From  the  altar  thy  heart  hath  built  to  me. 
And  there  shall  love  with  gladness  sacrifice 

This  self  it  hath  bound  captive,  for  to  thee 
Who  has  enthroned  love's  image  in  my  breast, 

'Twould  consecrate  the  life  thou  thus  hast  blest ! 


As  't  were  from  sleep  thou'st  waked  me  ;  changed  to 
day 

The  darkness  of  the  past, — appearing  now 
How  dark  !     And  thence  emerged  all  wondrously 

This  new-found  world  breaks  glorious  on  the  view, 
And  circling  all — as  doth  the  earth  the  sky! 

Love  doth  encompass  this  creation  new, 
Of  which  thou  art  the  Queen,  a  soverignty 

In  which  thou'st  crowned  me  Consort  unto  thee  ! 


114  A  THOUGHT. 


A  THOUGHT. 

I  watched  a  rose  at  evening  fade  away, 
As  leaf  by  leaf  its  crimson  richness  fell, 

And  sadly  gazing  thought,  may  thus  decay 
Such  beauty  claim,  thence  irredeemable? 

I  sought  in  vain  the  multitudinous  dew, 
An  hour  before  glitt'ring  in  bright  array 

Along  the  sward,  nor  aught  was  left  to  show 

What  glory  thence  had  passed  from  earth  away! 

The  spirit  of  the  flower,  the  soul,  methought, 
Of  fire  in  the  dew,  thus  fled,  must  pass 

To  some  bright  realm,  and  straight  my  fancy  sought 
To  place  the  sphere  worthy  such  loveliness. 

To  Phosphor  floating  in  her  sea  of  light — 
An  isle  of  glory;  to  th'  enchanted  sphere 

Arched  by  the  iris;  to  each  star  its  flight 
Did  Fancy  wing — successless  voyager. 


A  THOUGHT.  11$ 

I  stood  amid  a  scene  of  brilliant  joy, 

Where  Beauty  moved,  in  Music's  sweet  embrace, 
Shedding  on  all  a  nameless  radiancy 

From  the  divine  effulgence  of  her  face! 


Then  Love  exultant  cried:  "That  fit  repose 
By  Fancy  sought,  e'en  here  all  glorious  view: 

In  Beauty's  cheek  immortal  blooms  the  rose; 
In  Beauty's  eyes  the  fires  born  in  the  dew!" 


Il6  MUSIC  AND   MEMORY. 


MUSIC  AND   MEMORY. 


Music  once  wandering  through  the  heart, 

As  daylight  died  away, 
Found  Memory  sleeping  by  a  tomb 

Whose  verdure  withering  lay. 

Whispering  she  touched  the  slumberer, 

Soft  as  the  moon's  pale  beam 
The  folded  flower,  then  passed  away 

As  vanishes  a  dream. 

Memory  awoke  and  caught  the  voice 

Re-echoing  plaintively, 
Then,  weeping,  viewed  where  she  had  slept, 

And  oh,  how  bitterly! 

But  balmful  were  the  tears  thus  shed, 
And  the  flowers  which  there  drooped  lay 

Beneath  their  sweet  refreshment  bloomed 
And  beautified  decay. 


MUSIC  AND  MEMORY. 

And  now,  no  greener  spot  is  there 
For  Memory  loves  to  twine 

The  richest  verdure  of  the  heart 
Around  that  sacred  shrine. 


117 


Il8  THE  DAKOTA. 


THE    DAKOTA. 

A    FRAGMENT. 


I. 

Far  'neath  the  crimson  west,  all  sear  and  brown, 

Range  the  dark  hills  of  the  Dakota  land, 
By  arid  plains;  yet  farther,  looking  down 

On  pine-gloomed  wilds,  where  waters  darkly  grand 
Leap  their  rock-walls.     There  wide  the  wind-drift 
sand, 

The  ashen  alkali,  stretches  a-plain, 
O'er  which,  else  shadeless,    sun-scorched  sparsely 
stand 

The  lonely  cotton-woods;  and  as  a-main 
Ships'  sailless  masts,  becalmed,  'neath  burning  skies, 
From  'far  appear,  their  slender  heights  arise. 

II. 

There  in  primitive  lodges  of  the  plain, 
Dwelt  the  Dakota  tribes  confederate, 

The  land  possessing  'twixt  the  rock-forged  chain 
Of  mountains  westward  and  the  river  great, 

"  Father  of  waters  ' '  named,  which  through  the  gate 


THE   DAKOTA.  119 

Of  Delta  rolls  into  the  southern  sea. 
Foremost  in  war,  with  courage  desperate, 

Of  all  the  mightiest  braves  most  dreaded  they, 
Till  in  defence  'gainst  them  combined  arose 
Tribes  which  else  held  themselves  deadliest  of  foes! 

III. 

For  countless  years,  free  as  the  winged  wind, 

And  scarce  less  fleet;  more  fierce  and  deadlier  far, 
O'er  plain  and  through  deep  forests,  rock-confined 

To  dauntless  strength  most  loved,  the  Savage  there 
Ranged  chieftain  of  the  wilds.     Alike  the  lair 

Of  mountain  beast  and  eagles'  eyried  bed, 
Far  up  the  crag,  't  was  but  his  joy  to  dare; 

And  oft  the  grizzly  monster  crouched  in  dread 
Of  such  a  foe,  till  desperate  driven  at  length 
Employed,  how  vainly,  its  else  matchless  strength! 

IV. 

Swift,  not  less  sure,  the  barbed  arrow  flew 

From  his  sprung  bow,  drawn  'neath  a  strength  like 

that 

Which  in  the  storm  the  stoutest  sapling,  low 
Bends  earthward;  in  the  fated  life  to  wet 
Its  lightning  shaft,  with  feathery  rudders  set, 

Plucked   from    the   wing   which   soaring    high  it 
brought 


I2O  THE   DAKOTA. 

Lifeless  to  lay  low  at  its  master's  feet — 

His  gladdest  triumph  save  when  true  it  sought 
The  hostile's  breast,  to  yield  him  that  e'er  still 
The  proudest  trophy  of  a  warrior's  skill! 

V. 

In  verdured  plains,  walled  by  the  mountain  height, 

Beside  the  running  waters  was  his  home, 
Where  rose,  scarce  fewer  than  a  countless  flight 

Of  winged-ones  north-bound  when  the  spring  has 

come, 
The  painted  tepees  of  his  tribe.     Close  some 

Stood  'neath  the  mount;  some  by  the  river's  sands, 
Where,  tethered,  danced  in  the  in-eddying  foam 

The  swift  canoes, — some  staunch  for  war's  de 
mands; 

Some  of  a  grace,  with  odorous  cedar  wings, 
But  fitted  for  love's  happy  wanderings. 

VI. 

And  oft  it  was  when  the  last  beams  of  day 

Bathed  stream  and  woodland  in  their  soft  rose- 
hue, 

As  the  bright  moon,  with  love-inspiring  ray, 
Floated,  all  beauteous,  up  the  orient  blue, 

Out  from  the  shore  glided  the  light  canoe 


THE   DAKOTA.  121 

Bearing  the  love-led  warrior,  proudly  plumed, 
And  Indian  maid,  clad  in  the  softest  doe, 

Feathered  and  fringed,  her  olive  breast  illumed 
With  rustic  gems,  his  gift,  by  daring  brought 
From  nature's  stores,  o'er  ways  with  dangers  fraught. 

VII. 

Now  when  the  vernal  tide  its  riches  spread 

O'er  the  north  pampas,  and  the  bison  came, 
In  bands  forth  issuing,  fleetly  mounted,  sptd 

The  younger  braves  to  take  the  pasturing  game. 
Armed  with  the  bow  and  spear,  each  eye  a- gleam. 

Looking  impatient  courage,  crested  high 
With  eagle  plumes  stained  to  a  crimson  flame, 

Shouting  exultant,  'gainst  the  evening  sky 
O'er  the  west  hills  they  dashed  and  far  away, 
To  strike  the  feeding  herds  ere  dawn  of  day. 

VIII. 

On  their  fleet  coursers  of  the  wild  astride 

At  morn — kept  by  the  single,  scarce  touched  rein, 

Now  half  unhorsed — o'er-leaning  low  aside, 

Quick  straight  a-mount,  alike  they  swept  the  plain, 

As  now  they  charged  the  flying  herd,  which  ta'en 
Surprised,  by  cunning  artifice,  swift  fled 

A  surging  mass, — the  blackened,  trembling  plain 


122  THE   DAKOTA. 

And  rolling  prairie  thundering  'neath  their  tread, 
Till  it  did  seem  like  some  dark  inland  sea 
Wrought  from  beneath  to  tumult  suddenly! 

IX. 

Children  of  Nature,  bounteous  she  supplied 

Their  wants,  nor  wished  they  aught  she  gave  them 

not, — 
The  stretching  plains  their  country,  and  the  wide 

Skies  circling  the  sole  bound  their  science  taught, 
Swift  retribution  e'er  the  guilty  sought, 

And  justice  dealt — their  law  the  law  of  heaven, 
Through  ages  past  to  them  tradition  brought, 

By  the  Great  Spirit  to  their  fathers  given; 
Confirmed  to  them  whene'er  in  thunders  loud 
His   voice  they  heard  from   'midst  the  flame-rent 
cloud! 


UNDERLEY.  123 


UNDERLEY. 


Fair  hills  and  dales  in  summer's  wealth  arrayed, 
On  every  side  adorned  with  richest  shade; 
Along  the  vale,  o'er  pebbles  white  and  gray, 
The  river  babbling  on  its  winding  way 
By  cliff  and  woodland,  and  'neath  arches  seared, 
Which  Roman  skill  to  outlive  centuries  reared, 
And  to  the  distant  sea  still  circling  on, 
Crooning  its  story  of  long  ages  gone. 

Upsloping  from  the  marge  to  park  and  grange, 
Rare  pastures  where  the  lowing  beauties  range 
With  fleece-white  herds  which  o'er  the  greenswards 

rove, 
Or  clustering,  drowse  within  the  leafy  grove. 

A  garden  set  in  graceful,  terraced  frames, 
Whose  every  line  the  hand  of  Art  proclaims, 
Where  countless  flowers  blossom  everywhere, 
And  breathe  their  fragrance  on  the  slumbrous  air. 


124  UNDERLEY. 

Alone,  and  grouped,  old  trees  of  stately  mien, 
And,  fringed  with  colour,  copses  softly  green — 
The  haunts  of  birds,  which  with  the  quiet  breeze 
Blend  their  soft  notes  in  dulcet  harmonies. 

Embowered  in  the  midst,  a  stately  home: 
Grey  tower  and  turret  rising  o'er  the  land. 

Lined  by  the  circling  years  as  they  have  come 
And  passed  away — albeit  with  gentlest  hand. 

Ideal  scenes  where  Nature,  Art  delight 
To  soothe  the  soul — to  charm  the  lingering  sight: 
In  memory's  shrine,  where  all  most  loved  is  laid, 
Fixing  a  picture  which  can  never  fade. 

Such  is  the  prospect  I  have  found  in  thee; 
Such  is  thy  beauty,  noble  Underley. 


BARCAROLLE.  I2J 


BARCAROLLE. 


All  merrily 
O'er  the  billows  free 
Our  light  boat  swiftly  glides, 

And  the  mellow  light 

Of  the  starry  night 
Our  course  o'er  the  water  guides. 

With  thoughts  as  free 

As  the  rolling  sea, 
O'er  the  tossing  waves  we  bound, 

While  in  the  deep, 

As  we  onward  sweep, 
Our  oars  fall    with  musical  sound! 

CHORUS. 

Then  row  with  a  will,  with  a  will,  boys, 

And  sing  as  we  go  with  a  will,  boys  ! 

Our  strength  to  the  oar,  speeding  far  from  the  shore, 

O'er  the  sea  we  love  as  we  e'er  will,  boys. 

The  winds  we  brave, 
While  the  bounding  wave 
Obedient  to  our  will, 


126  BARCAROLLE. 

Like  a  mettled  steed 
From  its  curbings  freed, 

Bears  us  onward — onward  still  ! 
The  waves  may  dash, 
The  lightnings  flash, 

And  the  winds  oppose  our  course — 
These  our  joy  to  dare, 
Their  wild  sport  to  share, 

As  we  mingle  our  voices  with  theirs  ! 

CHORUS. 


Now  the  moon  above 

Waking  thoughts  of  love, 
Fills  the  scene  with  her  dreamy  light, 

As  within  the  bay, — 

Passed  the  open  sea, — 
We  glide  o'er  the  wavelets  bright. 

And  a  steady  oar 

Speeds  us  to  the  shore, 
While  our  hearts'  warmest  pulses  move, 

For  we  know  that  there 

Wait  us  faces  dear, 
Whose  smiles  are  the  guerdon  of  love. 

CHORUS. 


SONG  127 


SONG. 


A  sky  of  purest  sapphire, 

A  shore  of  silver  sand; 

The  constant  ocean  whispering 

Its  love  unto  the  land. 

A  sail  all  solitary 

Drifting  across  the  sea, 

As  hearts  drift  on  in  silence, 

Unknown  their  destiny. 


REFRAIN. 

Beauteous,  ah  beauteous,  earth  and  sea  and  air, 
Yet  joy  my  spirit  finds  not  anywhere; 
Patience,  O,  faithful  heart,  e'en  as  day  follows  night 
And  darkness  is  resolved  to  beams  of  radiant  light, 

So  shall  the  shadows  pass 

And  joy  replace  the  sorrow, 

Patiently — hopefully, 

So  shall  gladness  come  to  thee. 


128  SONG. 

II. 

•  In  vision-land  I  linger, 
Hope's  dream  is  pictured  there; 
I  call:  no  voice  in  answer; 
I  wake  and  all  is  drear — 
When  shall  the  shadows  vanish 
And  life  be  at  its  best; 
When  shall  the  heart's  fond  longings 
In  joy's  completeness  rest? 

REFRAIN, 


A   REMEMBRANCE. 


A  REMEMBRANCE. 


I  stood  alone  on  the  pebbled  beach 
As  the  moon  rose  over  the  sea, 

And  the  doleful  break  of  the  restless  waves, 
Brought  sad  memories  to  me. 

Across  her  silvery  path  o'er  the  wave 

A  ship  passed  into  the  night; 
Though  it  glided  by  ere  I'd  viewed  it  well, 

I  can  never  forget  that  sight. 

E'en  thus,  I  thought,  on  life's  path  appear 

Sweet  faces  a  moment  seen, 
Then  lost  to  us:  a  grave  in  the  heart 

Which  memory  keeps  ever  green. 


I3O     I   LOVE  TO  LOOK  INTO  THINE  EYES. 


I  LOVE  TO  LOOK  INTO  THINE  EYES. 


I  love  to  look  into  thine  eyes, 
Thy  soul's  bright  mirrors,  where 

Its  crystal  depths  reflected  beam — 
Glancing  in  beauty  there  ! 

I  love  to  look  into  thine  eyes, 

Sweet  springs  which,  sparkling  o'er 

Life's  arid  plain,  refreshment  yield 
Else  never  known  before. 


I  love  to  look  into  thine  eyes 
Where  virtues  mirrored  are; 

Virtues  which  Modesty  would  hide 
By  Truth  revealed  there. 


LINES  IN  AN   ALBUM.  131 


LINES  IN  AN  ALBUM. 


Spotless  this  page  where  now  my  verse  I  place; 
E'en  thus  the  record  of  thy  young  life  is. 
Would  that  as  here  friendship  I  fondly  trace 
I  there  might  grave  enduring  happiness. 


THE  SAME 

As  when  beneath  the  church-yard's  quiet  shade 
We  wander  musing  at  the  close  of  day, 
And  mark  the  sadd'ning  records  telling  there 
Of  fondest  friendships  which  have  passed  away; 
So  in  life's  evening  when  thine  eyes  shall  stray 
Amid  these  pages,  to  thy  memory  dear, 
Pass  not  this  leaf— in  friendship's  sacred  name 
Fondly  I  now  inscribe  "  remembrance  "  here. 


132  LINES   IN  AN  ALBUM. 

THE  SAME 

Goodness  is  thy  beauty's  dower 
Unobtrusive  as  the  flower 

Shadowed  in  the  lea; 
Silvery  as  the  brooklet's  trebles 
Flowing  o'er  enamelled  pebbles 

Sounds  thy  voice  to  me. 


THE  SAME. 

My  autograph  you  ask  ?     Behold 
Upon  this  page  I  gladly  write  it. 
May  smiles  alone  attend  the  lips 
At  whose  command  I  now  indite  it. 


LINES 


Written  in  the  fly  leaf  of  a  book  presented  to  Dr.  on  his 

return  to  his  home  in  Bermuda. 

With  this  adieu — alas  that  jealous  Fate 
Should  ever  thus  fond  friendship  separate! 
Mayst  thou  and  thine  by  joy  e'er  compassed  be 
As  are  thine  isles  by  their  glad,  sunlit  sea, 


LINES.  133 


TO 


In  her  high  temple  Memory  shall  enshrine,- 
As  love  hath  in  the  temple  of  the  heart, — 
Thy  image  'neath  that  of  the  Muse  divine, 
Whose  votary  and  favored  child  thou  art. 


LINES. 


If  o'er  each  worthier  birth  some  proud  star  shines, 

Importing  favors  for  its  foster-child, 
By  genius  dowered  or  gifted  from  the  shrines 

Which  hold  the  wealth  of  Virtue's  sacred  guild, 

Surely  o'er  thine  in  whom  combined  appear 
Genius  and  virtues  which  might  more  adorn, 

In  happiest  conjunction  many  a  star 

Propitious  beamed,  blessing  the  natal-morn. 


134  LOVE  IN  ABSENCE. 


LOVE  IN  ABSENCE. 


"En   el  amor  la  auscencia  es  como  el  aire,  que  apaga  el 
fuego  chico,  e  enciende  el  grande." 

— Spanish  Proverb. 


A  little  fire 

Must  soon  expire 
'Neath  the  wind's  agitation, 

Whereas  the  same 

A  greater  flame 
Swells  to  a  conflagration! 

E'en  so  to  love 
Doth  absence  prove: 

A  little  fire  o'er-turning, 
But  when  the  breast 
Love's  flames  invest, 

•It  sets  them  wildly  burning. 


SONG.  135 


SONG. 


There's  some  one  with  the  brightest  eyes 

That  ever  love  betrayed; 
There's  some  one  with  the  sweetest  smile 

That  beauty  e'er  displayed, 
Whose  image,  wheresoe'er  I  be, 

Love  ever  brings  to  view, 
And  who  that  some  one  is,  fairest, 

I  scarce  need  name  to  you. 

There  is  an  anxious  heart  that  knows 

A  rapture  it  conceals, 
And  longing  waits  the  hour  to  speak 

The  fullness  which  it  feels. 
Its  joy  alone  beneath  that  smile, 

'Neath  those  sweet  eyes  of  blue, 
And  in  whose  breast  it  beats,  sweet  one, 

Oh,  need  I  name  to  you? 


MUSIC  AND  ITS  PROCESSES. 


MUSIC  AND  ITS  PROCESSES. 


Notwithstanding  the  marvelous  perfection  to  which 
music  has  beeen  brought  in  all  its  branches,  and 
the  very  exhaustive  treatises  which  have  been  writ 
ten  on  the  theories  of  the  art,  not  to  speak  of  the 
wonderful  mastery  which  has  been  obtained  over  its 
technical  difficulties,  psychologically  considered,  the 
subject  does  not  appear  to  have  received  an  equal 
degree  of  attention  other  than  in  works  too  volumi 
nous,  if  not  too  abstruse,  for  general  reading.  Our 
purpose  in  this  paper  will  be  to  inquire  briefly  into 
the  processes  of  the  several  FACTORS  in  music  as 
relates  to  their  effect  upon  the  listener;  and  if  we  can 
succeed  in  throwing  some  light  on  the  subject  for 
"the  great  majority,"  we  shall  not  have  labored  in 
vain,  even  though  we  fail  to  "  extend  the  horizon  " 
of  the  more  knowing  few. 

In  undertaking  to  offer  an  answer  to  the  question, 
"How  does  music  act  upon  its  auditor  to  impart 
that  pleasure  which  it  so  universally  affords  ?  "  it  is 

(-39) 


140  MUSIC  AND  ITS  PROCESSES. 

important  to  have  in  mind  two  facts.  First,  that 
this  pleasure,  in  its  aggregate,  is  a  complex  emotion, 
comprising  many  simple  emotions,  which  latter,  it 
may  be  suggested,  consist  of  still  other  more  subtle 
refinements  of  feeling.  Thus  our  inquiry  must  be  in 
to  the  nature  of  those  primary  factors  in  music  and 
their  processes  which  give  rise  to  the  individual 
emotions  ;  and  if  we  can  trace  out  these,  we  shall 
have  gone  far  toward  reaching  an  understanding  of 
the  subject  presented.  The  second  fact  is  that  the 
high  distinguishing  power  of  creative  minds,  in  the 
arts  in  general,  is  that  faculty  which  enables  them 
to  go  beyond  personal  experiences  and  to  compre 
hend  the  whole  range  of  human  emotions  (of  which 
we  have  the  highest  example  in  the  art  of  Shakes 
peare),  which  faculty,  as  need  scarcely  be  suggested, 
is  the  god-like  attribute  of  genius. 

As  all  understand,  among  the  arts,  music  takes  a 
high  place  as  an  exponent  of  the  emotions,  which  in 
deed  was  its  primitive,  as  it  has  ever  been  its  chief 
mission  ;  its  first  crude  forms  having  been  no  more 
than  the  spontaneous  utterance  of  human  feeling. 

And  just  here  let  us  direct  attention  to  the  identi 
ty  and  consequent  immediate  relation  which  exists 
between  the  inherent  properties  of  music  and  those 
of  emotion,  which  need  only  to  be  mentioned  to  be 
at  once  recognized, — pointed  out  by  Dr.  Haweis, 
in  his  able  book,  "  Music  and  Morals." 


MUSIC  AND   ITS   PROCESSES.  141 

These  properties,  both  in  music  and  emotion, 
have  been  identified  as  velocity,  intensity,  complex 
ity,  elation  and  depression,  which  in  the  respective 
cases  may  be  approximated  as  follows  : 


IN    MUSIC. 

VELOCITY  by  the  several  tempi  employed,  as  vari 
ous  as  are  numerous  the  degrees  in  the  range  in 
cluded  within  the  terms  largo  and  prestissimo. 

INTENSITY  by  the  infinitely  minute  gradations  pos 
sible  between  the  signs  ppp  and^/7". 

COMPLEXITY  by  the  countless  subtly  interwoven 
quantities  of  harmony  worked  upon  the  web  of 
melody. 

ELATION  AND  DEPRESSION  by  the  tones  and  their 
intervals,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  pitch. 


IN  EMOTION. 

VELOCITY  by  successive  impulses  of  feeling  such 
as  are  experienced  in  situations  which  excite  a  series 
of  emotions,  following  each  other  in  various  degrees 
of  velocity. 

INTENSITY  by  the  various  degrees  in  which  feel 
ing  sways  us,  ranging  from  the  simplest  emotion, 
which  may  be  all  but  neutral,  to  the  condition  of 
highest  excitability. 


142  MUSIC   AND   ITS   PROCESSES. 

COMPLEXITY  by  a  concatenation  of  emotions, 
which  succeed  each  other  at  a  rate  of  velocity  so 
great  that  even  the  "  lightning  of  the  mind  "  may 
scarcely  distinguish  where  one  state  of  feeling  ceases 
and  the  next  begins  ;  the  appreciable  result  of  which 
is  the  complete,  complex  sensation,  or  "complexity." 

ELATION  AND  DEPRESSION  by  the  various  states  of 
feeling,  ranging  from  the  lowest  despondency  to  the 
top-most  heights  of  exultation. 

Thus  are  suggested  corresponding  planes  be 
tween  music  and  emotion,  and  these  will  assist  us  in 
tracing  out  the  processes  by  which  one  acts  upon 
the  other. 

As  the  primary,  and  consequently  fundamental 
constituent  of  music,  we  consider  melody  first  in  or 
der,  and,  secondly,  its  grand  accessory  and  beauti- 
fier,  harmony;  for  it  is  melody  which  serves  in  the 
art  as  the  articulate  voice  medium  of  expression,  as 
relates  to  emotion,  becoming,  under  the  inspiration 
of  the  composer,  the  embodiment,  so  to  speak,  of 
particular  states  of  mind  and  feeling.  By  melody  is 
of  course  understood  the  rhythmic  progression  of 
notes,  as  distinguished  from  die  grouping  of  notes  or 
harmony. 

It  may  be  safely  premised  that  most  of  us  who 
have  reached  the  years  of  maturity  have  experienced 
all  of  what  may  be  termed  the  fundamental  human 
emotions,  varying,  of  course,  in  intensity  and  conti 
nuity,  with  the  susceptibility  of  the  nature  acted 


MUSIC   AND   ITS  PROCESSES.  143 

upon,  and  modified  by  attendant  circumstances.  Of 
these  emotions,  rising  from  time  to  time,  those  with 
which  it  is  the  peculiar  province  of  music  to  deal 
do  not  always  find  commensurate  expression,  and 
this  is  particularly  true  of  those  tender  sentiments 
with  which  music  so  continually  employs  itself, 
which  emotions  are  afforded  but  partial  expression, 
or  lie  voiceless  within,  ever  ready  to  welcome  op 
portunity  for  expression.  As  it  is  true  that  the  ma 
jor  portion  of  mankind  have  at  least  touched  upon 
the  fundamental  emotions  common  to  humanity,  so, 
conversely,  is  it  true  that  all  human  emotion  has 
been  given  expression  to  through  the  respective  me 
dia  of  art  by  the  master-workers  therewith;  and  this 
may  be  said  of  music  alone  within  the  limitations 
of  the  art.  Thus  it  follows  that  all  who  can  place 
themselves  in  sympathy  with  music  (and  who  can 
not?)  may  find  therein  expression  for  the  higher 
emotions  of  the  soul,  inarticulate  though  it  be  as 
compared  with  the  art  of  speech,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  is  doubtless  true  that  music  serves  as  a 
medium  of  expression  for  deep-lying  refinements  of 
feeling,  too  subtle  for  the  symbols  of  speech. 

It  is  not  unusual  to  meet  in  the  course  of  our  read 
ing,  with  a  thought  which  we  at  once  recognize  as 
one  which  we  have  ourselves  before  known — in  many 
instances,  perhaps,  in  an  equally  positive  form  as 
that  in  which  we  find  it  preserved.  It  maybe,  how 
ever,  that  we  have  not  given  it  expression,  or  if  at 


144  MUSIC  AND  ITS   PROCESSES. 

all,  we  have  not  uttered  it  with  any  special  definite- 
ness.  Some  of  the  thoughts,  however,  which  may 
thus  be  recognized  have  presented  themselves  so 
evanescently  to  our  consciousness  that  we  can  hard 
ly  claim  them  as  our  own  ;  their  outline  only  having 
passed  before  our  mental  vision  without  leaving  any 
distinct  impression,  just  as  the  prepared  plate  in  the 
camera  may  be  said  to  receive  an  imperfect  outline 
only  of  an  object  if  submitted  to  it  but  for  an  in 
stant.  Yet,  again,  we  can  conceive  that  there  are 
still  other  thoughts  in  embryo  which  have  only  just 
reached  the  border  line  of  consciousness,  as  yet  on 
the  nether  side,  but  the  moment  these  come  in  con 
tact  with  their  related  expression  they  become 
quickened  into  action,  as  the  electric  spark  springs 
forth  the  moment  the  complete  conductor  touches 
its  source  ;  up  to  that  instant  remaining  motionless 
though  living.  In  like  manner  we  conceive  it  to 
be  the  case  with  feeling.  From  the  most  neutral  to 
those  most  actively  alive,  are  there  emotions  wait 
ing  upon  expression ;  their  permanent,  unfathoma 
ble  nature,  making  repeated  expression  ever  welcome 
to  them, — which,  indeed,  may  be  said,  with  more  or 
less  truth,  of  all  emotion.  Others  have  been  but  par 
tially  expressed,  while  again  there  are  those  (if  we 
may  be  allowed  to  anticipate  their  existence)  which 
like  the  thought  in  embryo,  have  not  as  yet  taken 
their  definite  form,  but  which,  when  brought  in  con- 


MUSIC  AND  ITS  PROCESSES.  145 

tact  with  their  adequate  conductor,  become  vivified 
and  produce  their  corresponding  sensation. 

May  it  not  be  that  those  nameless  emotions  which 
are  experienced  when  we  come  under  the  influence  of 
certain  passages  in  the  music  of  such  magicians  in 
the  art  as  Beethoven,  which  we  are  unable  satisfac 
torily  to  fix  or  define  to  our  understanding,  belong 
to  the  class  last  named,  which,  undefined  though 
they  be,  afford  us  a  pleasure  of  a  very  positive,  al 
beit  mysterious  character.  If  the  doctrine  of  metem 
psychosis  were  admissible,  these  stranger  emotions 
might  be  accounted  for  by  supposing  them  to  per 
tain  to  some  prior  condition  of  existence ;  emotions 
which  such  music  as  that  named,  alone,  is  capable 
of  awakening  or  giving  utterance  to  in  this  present 
existence. 

Admitting  the  theory  that  the  master-workers  in 
the  art  under  consideration  have  comprehended  all 
human  feeling,  and  created  therefor  adequate  chan 
nels  of  expression,  it  follows  that  when  we  place  our 
selves  under  the  influence  of  the  art,  in  the  hands  of 
the  interpreter,  the  latent  or  active  feeling  responds 
thereto,  affording  that  pleasurable  sensation  which 
the  expression  of  emotion  always  yields. 

Let  us  apply  our  premises.  In  listening  to  a  musi 
cal  composition,  we  recognize  it  as  dealing  with  some 
given  sentiment.  Not,  perhaps,  apprehending  the 
exact  phase  of  the  sentiment  treated,  but  the  funda 
mental  emotion  to  which  it  is  related,  and  therefore 


146  MUSIC  AND   ITS   PROCESSES. 

one  which,  accepting  the  hypothesis  submitted,  each 
auditor  has  already  experienced  in  some  degree, — 
hence  recognizes.  Thus  identified,  our  emotional 
nature  responds  thereto  in  various  degrees  in 
each  individual  as  such  of  their  several  experiences 
as  harmonize  with  the  given  sentiment  vary — for  as 
the  composer  colors  the  emotion  interpreted  with 
his  own  individuality,  so  does  each  auditor  receive 
such  interpretation  in  its  application  to  his  own  par 
ticular  experience  ;  and  more  or  less  intense  as  the 
emotional  nature  prevails  in  the  case  of  each  listen 
er  respectivly. 

Furthermore,  the  effect  will,  of  course,  be  in  pro 
portion  as  the  composer  possesses  a  nature  capa 
ble  of  feeling  and  power  to  adequately  interpret 
through  his  art  the  given  emotion. 

Each  auditor  thus  recognizing  (by  the  intuition  of 
feeling  rather  than  by  any  intellectual  apprehension) 
in  the  given  theme  the  expression  of  a  more  or  less 
familiar  emotion,  which,  in  the  particular  case,  may 
never  have  found  adequate,  or  but  partial  utter 
ance,  the  emotional  being  which,  so  to  speak,  has  been 
bearing  the  burden  of  the  unuttered  feeling,  gladly 
welcomes  and  rests  itself  upon  that  expression, 
making  it  its  own,  and  thus  is  experienced  that 
sense  of  satisfaction  the  ultimate  of  which  we  know 
as  pleasure. 

Not  only  is  it  true,  as  has  been  said,  that  all  man 
kind  have  experienced,  in  various  degrees,  the  fun- 


MUSIC  AND  ITS   PROCESSES.  147 

damental  feelings  of  our  human  nature,  but  it  is 
also  the  fact  that  all  have  known  something  of  the 
more  exalted  emotions, — such,  for  example,  as  those 
of  the  sublime,  the  heroic,  and  the  like ;  and  it  is 
more  particularly  true  of  these  that  in  this  mater 
ialistic  age  they  but  seldom  find  exercise  except 
that  which  may  be  termed  the  sympathetic  expres 
sion  afforded  when  we  come  under  the  influence 
of  art. 

Thus,  such  music  as  represents  martial  cadences, 
the  pageantry  of  arms,  or  as  relates  to  the  more  re- 
ligio-sublime,  those  grand  choral-form  progressions 
and  magnificent  passages,  as  in  Oratorio,  which  we  in 
tuitively  recognize  as  the  utterance  of  emotion  per 
taining  to  the  most  exalted  planes  of  feeling, — (to 
which  the  highest  natures  alone  may  attain),  may  bo 
said  to  awaken  that  profound  sentiment  which 
springs  worshipfully  from  the  apprehension  of  the 
divine  conceptions  presented  in  these  grander  crea 
tions  of  the  art,  and  afford  an  expression  to  the  sub- 
limer  emotions  which  elsewise  for  the  most  part 
they  know  not  ;  and  the  man  or  woman  with  but  lit 
tle  of  the  religious  or  heroic  in  their  nature,  may  by 
this  agency  be  moved  to  a  depth  which  no  other  in 
fluence  might  ever  reach.  Under  the  influence  of 
this  class  of  music,  which  excites  the  heroic  senti 
ment,  we  feel  that  pleasure  which  a  quickening  of  the 
nobler  impulses  of  the  soul  affords,  while  in  the  lat 
ter  case,  where  the  religious  sentiment  is  brought 


148  MUSIC  AND   IIS   TROCESSES. 

into  action,  the  soul  is  subdued  into  a  state  of  devo 
tion  and  repose,  or  exalted  by  the  sentiment  of  rev 
erence  and  adoration. 

Moreover,  it  is  to  be  remembered,  that  this  plea 
sure  is  largely  aided  by  the  "  association  process," 
which  contributes  in  an  important  degree  to  the 
pleasure  experienced  (as  it  does  indeed  in  most  pro 
cesses  of  mind),  industriously  gathering  about  such 
pleasurable  feeling,  as  a  given  theme  or  passage  may 
awaken,  all  experiences  in  consonance  therewith, 
which  add  their  coloring  to  the  dominant  emotion. 

Herein,  then,  seems  to  lie  the  primary  source  of 
the  pleasure  afforded  by  music:  that  it  is  an  articu 
late  voice,  whereby  we  may  find  more  or  less  ade 
quate  expression  for  the  deepest  emotions  which 
inhabit  the  unfathomable  recesses  of  the  soul.  Over 
and  beyond  the  delectation  which  is  thus  derived 
from  what  may  be  termed  the  soul  of  music,  there 
is  a  supplementary  pleasure  afforded  by  the  external 
forms  of  melody.  This  clearly  arises  from  the  per 
ception,  in  its  numerous  rhythmic  designs  and 
varying  cadences,  of  the  beauty  of  symmetry,  pro 
portion  and  the  like  thereby  outlined  before  the 
mind,  while  at  the  same  time,  by  the  process  of  as 
similation,  may  be  suggested  some  of  the  multitu 
dinous  rhythms  in  the  world  of  nature,  or  some 
other  of  its  more  sublime  manifestations.  And  here 
again  is  the  "  association  process  "  found  occupying 
itself,  calling  up  before  the  mind  the  scenes  where 


MUSIC  AND  ITS  PROCESSES.  149 

such  manifestations  are  known,  thus  giving  rise  to 
other  simple  emotions,  each  contributing  its  pleas 
urable  sensation;  the  aggregate  of  all  being  the 
"  complex  "  or  complete  pleasure. 

Moreover,  the  external  forms  of  melody  delight  us 
by  their  supplementary  elaboration  and  embellish 
ment,  affording  a  pleasure  very  similar  to,  if  indeed 
not  identical  with  that  experienced  in  contemplat 
ing  the  graceful  or  fantastic  designs  of  line  and 
curve  wrought  into  delicate  arabesques  and  infinite 
forms  of  beauty  in-a  sister  art. 

Let  us  accept  melody,  then,  as  the  prime  source 
of  that  pleasure  which  music  affords;  not,  of  course, 
wishing  to  be  understood  that  melody  per  se  affords 
this  pleasure,  but  that,  as  presented  in  musical  com 
positions,  it  is  the  primary  factor  which  produces 
the  pleasurable  emotion  experienced.  First,  as  be 
ing  the  embodied  expression  of  human  feeling,  that 
is  the  soul  of  it;  and,  secondly,  by  its  external 
beauty  of  form  and  embellishment,  all  interwoven 
by  harmony  into  the  perfect  whole. 

A  brief  word  may  be  added  as  to  harmony,  which 
is  understood  to  be  the  combination  of  two  or  more 
notes  bearing  relative  consistent  proportions  to  the 
fundamental  tone.  The  meed  of  pleasure  which 
harmony  contributes  to  the  aggregate  derived  from 
music,  plainly  results  from  the  character  and  color 
which  it  imparts  to,  and  incidentally  from  the  rich 


ISO  MUSIC  AND   ITS   PROCESSES. 

vestments,  so  to  speak,  woven  from  its  "  concord  of 
sweet  sounds/'  in  which  it  robes  its  subject. 

As  presented  to  the  imagination,  its  innumerable 
combinations  of  beauty  delight  us  now  by  their 
embroider-like  richness;  following  which  the  imagi 
nation  is  conducted  amid  ingeniously  developed  pro 
gressions,  from  one  enchanting  surprise  to  another; 
now  dazzling  by  their  regal  splendor,  scintillating 
with  rich  decoration  as  might  the  brilliant  capari 
sons  of  a  royal  pageant  glistening  in  the  sunlight — 
awakening  the  more  pleasurable  phases  of  wonder 
and  admiration,  or  again  by  their  closely  inter 
woven,  yet,  in  point  of  continuance,  broadly  ex 
tended  beauty,  through  which  run  the  golden  threads 
of  melody,  suggesting  to  the  mind  the  velvety  rich 
ness  of  superb  tapestries,  into  which  are  woven 
uniquely  delicate  or  boldly  figured  designs,  and  un 
numbered  other  mental  pictures  of  beauty,  giving 
rise  to  other  various  and  amplified  phases  of  the 
emotions  named,  and  so  forth.  All  these  harmonic 
variations,  infinite  in  number,  being  consistently 
proportioned  and  combined,  now  in  powerful  con 
trasts,  or  again  in  the  most  delicate  interfusions  of 
sound,  their  effect  upon  the  sensibilities  may  be  said 
to  be  related  to  that  experienced  in  contemplating 
perfect  combinations,  gradations  and  interblending 
of  colors,  especially  if  in  action  as  in  a  fine  sun 
set,  as  when  viewed  across  an  expanse  of  water, 
upon  which  the  rich  masses  of  color  are  cradled 


MUSIC   AND   ITS   PROCESSES.  151 

into  innumerable  combinations  of  beauty.  In  this 
connection  is  recalled  the  thought  suggested  by  the 
author  already  quoted,  that  the  time  may  come 
when  ingenuity  will  have  devised  instruments 
whereby  color  may  be  manipulated  and  expressed 
in  rhythmic  action  and  harmonic  combinations,  i.  e., 
symphonies  in  color,  which  shall  impart  the  same 
pleasure  through  the  sense  of  sight  that  we  now  de 
rive  from  symphonies  in  sound. 

We  have  sought  thus  briefly  to  outline  the  view 
that  the  pleasure  derived  from  music  is  chiefly  pro 
duced  by  its  fundamental  constituent,  melody: 

i  st.  As  furnishing  an  adequate  medium  of  ex 
pression  to  the  most  noble,  most  tender  and  conse 
quently  most  demandful  of  human  emotions;  the 
importance  of  which  service  makes  apparent  the 
divineness  of  its  mission. 

2nd.  By  the  countless  designs  of  beauty  presented 
to  the  mind  in  its  various  and  ever  varying  forms. 

3rd.  By  the  rich  ornamentation  and  embellish 
ments  it  displays. 

4th.  By  calling  into  action  the  "  association  pro 
cess  "  which  calls  up  before  the  mind  that  which 
diverts  and  delights,  and 

Finally,  that  harmony,  the  grand  auxiliary  and 
beautifier  of  melody,  contributes  in  a  preeminent 
degree  to  heighten,  and  to  create,  the  sum  total  of 
pleasure  afforded,  in  the  manner  briefly  indicated. 


14  DAY  USE 

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